


Il Suo Diavolo

by IShottheSheriff



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, Nero is a Sweetheart, Slow Burn, Uncle Dante (TM)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:33:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 22
Words: 71,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IShottheSheriff/pseuds/IShottheSheriff
Summary: Ever since the day his arm changed, Nero had heard a voice in his head. A demon.A demon that called himself Vergil.An AU where Nero and Vergil's souls are bonded when Nero gains his Devil Bringer.
Relationships: Dante & Nero (Devil May Cry), Nero & Vergil (Devil May Cry), Nero/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 239
Kudos: 512





	1. Connected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This AU was thought up ages ago on a discord chat between me and the lovely @kazahegao (twitter and ao3)!

Nero came to naturally, for once his slumber undisturbed by his alarm. Saturday; his day off. There would be no jobs or drills for him, his time was his own. Daylight was already seeping in through his long velvet curtains by the time he opened his eyes, stretching out languidly in bed.

He lay his demonic arm on top of the thick duvet, giving it a quick once-over. Blue light pulsed from slashes hewn between dark, hard scutes, diving down toward his glowing palm. It’s light was humming softly, tiredly…Would it be rude to ignore it now that he was awake?

“Morning,” he told it quietly.

 _‘…Good morning,’_ the demon inside responded. The voice was cool and surprisingly human, with a penchant for speaking with an outdated etiquette. Ever since the day his arm had changed, he’d heard it sounding in his head. At first the contact had been few and far between, mostly whispers or growls while he was fighting with other devils, but recently it – no, _he_ – had started speaking with him on other random occasions.

Nero, fearing the fact that a demon was speaking inside him, had reacted by telling him to shut up and leave him alone. The voice had scoffed at him – _scoffed_ at him, though he gave Nero what he wanted…for a time. He soon started making the odd comment here and there again, catching the teen off guard every time and making him jump. By now he was used to the sudden remarks, which would occasionally turn into conversation whenever he was alone to speak.

Nero brought his Devil Bringer up to gently scratch an itch at his shoulder, careful not to rake at his skin too harshly with the talons. It had taken a while to get used to his new demonic limb, and even now he wasn’t fully accustomed to it or the demon that came along. Thank the Saviour he was already left-handed; relearning how to write and to fight would have been exhausting on top of his already mounting stresses.

He sucked in a sharp breath when he accidentally pierced his flesh. _'You should be more careful,’_ he heard immediately _, ‘claws and soft skin are not a good combination.'_

“Yeah, no shit.” It wasn’t the first time he’d nicked himself, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. Nero got himself out of bed and padded to his bathroom to freshen up.

 _‘Ah, up so early?’_ the voice lilted sardonically. How the Hell could he imply Nero was lazy when he rose at the crack of dawn on every other day of the week?

“Zip it,” Nero grumbled without malice. He pushed into the bathroom and eyed where they were connected at his shoulder briefly. “Hey, there’s something I gotta ask.” Why he’d never got around to it before he didn’t know. It seemed like the first thing he should have asked.

_‘By all means.’_

“What’s your name anyway? You never introduced yourself.”

Silence. Nero waited; sometimes the demon would take its time in answering, thinking over how to reply. Not this time, apparently, when the quiet stretched on and on. _And after being so chatty this morning.._. “Alright, suit yourself.”

Kyrie had left a note on the kitchen table, a reminder that she had gone to visit HQ with their older brother Credo. The building was a magnificent limestone fortress standing over the ocean at the east side of their little island home of Fortuna. Nero had no wish to tag along, however. It was his day off, there was no way he was spending it listening to the pious prattling of His Holiness and his loyal cronies if he had the option not to. His demon seemed to share his sentiments – whenever he had to sit through communion he would hear the occasional tut and exasperated sigh.

Nero heated himself some porridge and settled at the table. This was one of the very rare times that he could leave his room with his Bringer uncovered. Usually it rested in a sling pilfered from the hospital to keep it out of the way and concealed, for the most part. He soon found out that covering the rest with gauze was fiddly and time consuming, and the white dressing revealed the disfiguration and discolouration of the limb too well; so Nero settled for tying a thick layer of fabric around his hand and forearm to complete the job.

Right now it was lying gloriously free next to his bowl on the tabletop, claws drumming lightly on the wooden surface. Nero had examined every inch of it over and over before, but it still fascinated him to study it. He turned it over so that it was palm up. Absently he traced the tips of his fingers over the rippled glowing skin, balancing his spoon with his thumb as he did. It felt much the same as it would to his human hand. Ticklish.

“Can you feel that?” he whispered. The demon had no control over his arm, but in some strange way he could sense him there when he fought. It was a tingling heat of energy that flared in the presence of danger, a signature of power.

 _‘Yes, I can feel you.’_ Nero hadn’t been expecting an answer after the silent treatment earlier. He hadn’t been expecting _that_ answer either. He drew his fingers away, embarrassed. The demon sounded…a little uncomfortable. It wasn’t lost on him how strangely intimate his gentle touch had been.

To save face Nero jabbed his spoon into his palm, hard.

“Could you feel _that?_ ”

 _‘Yes,’_ his demon sighed. That was better; he preferred exasperation over awkwardness. Nero went back to gulping down the rest of his breakfast, getting up with the bowl to peek into the hallway at the mahogany grandfather clock that stood sentry outside the study. _Nearly 10. Boy, I really slept in_.

As he was rinsing his bowl out in the sink said clock struck the hour, the deep chime echoing through the house. It was a grand old house, with the typical Fortunian architecture, spacious rooms and high ceilings. Nestled in the crook created by the kitchen and study was a garden, replete with a patio and a grass lawn and flower beds. His late adoptive parents were celebrated members of the Order of the Sword, and their position earnt them the luxury of the large fully detached home.

Nero pushed into his room, intent on spending the whole day relaxing. His bedroom was the smallest in the house, but it was still big enough for his downy double bed – and it came with an en suite and a tiny balcony.

 _‘Your room is extremely untidy,’_ his demonic company observed with an audible air of distaste. _‘How can you be comfortable in this mess?’_

“Don’t see how it affects you.”

‘I _have to look at it.’_

“Then close your eyes,” Nero suggested. He wasn’t sure that that was how his sight via their connection worked, but whatever. Surely he could turn it off or something. At least, that’s what Nero seriously wanted to believe. Having a demon watch when he changed or went to the bathroom or did…other things that teenage boys were particularly fond of wasn’t a thought he wanted to entertain. He was in the habit of announcing when he had to use the bathroom to give the devil a chance to fuck off somewhere else. As for the other thing, he waited until the dead of night and quietly asked if he was awake before attempting it.

An annoying jingle played as his character died onscreen, and Nero dropped the controller onto the bed with a sigh. There was a strategy guide that came with it somewhere that would help him where he kept getting stuck.

He got up to rummage around the cupboard under his boxy tv, where he kept all the disks and wires for the console. It wasn’t the easiest space to navigate as he’d last left it…there was no order to the way he’d chucked everything in, dumped and tangled. Nero lifted some cables here and there, swiping some cases out of the way. With each unsuccessful dig he got increasingly more annoyed, until he was growling with frustration. “Where,” he hissed, standing to search the rest of his room.

 _Where the Hell did I put it?_ Discarded clothes were kicked out of the way, drawers rifled through in a hurry. Nero gritted his teeth, rapidly losing his already narrow patience.

 _‘Is it really so important, Nero?’_ his demon inquired flatly.

“No,” he admitted, “but it’s pissing me off!” Nero paused for a moment, letting his irritation churn in his chest. _This is my fucking day off._ Then, he took a steady breath in and out and his mood drained away, (somewhat) calm again. Slowly he started to collect the items strewn over his floor and replace them where they belonged. His whole room needed sorting, his task turning into a big job that took much longer than he could usually stand – but he’d started, and had enough motivation to finish, so he might as well do just that.

Sitting on his bed once he’d finally done, taking in how neat and tidy his bedroom now was…it was nice. Really nice. Everything seemed more fresh now; even the sun seemed to shine in brighter through the paned balcony doors.

_‘Much better.’_

“Guess you were right.” _Still didn’t find the damn guide though._

 _‘I find I often am,’_ the demon murmured playfully. Nero snorted and turned back to his game controller, lying on his front to watch the tv.

“I know I told you to stop butting in and telling me all the answers, but I kinda need help with this one.” He hit continue and worked his way back to the puzzle in question. “Got any ideas?”

_‘I have already solved it.’_

“Well?”

 _‘Let’s see if you can do the same.’_ Nero sighed and rolled his eyes.

“That's not why I asked.”

_‘It is simple, you just have to think. The riddle is well within your capability.’_

“Thanks?” He wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be encouraging or insulting.

 _‘Read closely. Which of these clues can be confirmed as truthful? From there you can work out which others can or cannot be trusted.’_ Nero scanned over each dialogue box carefully, trying his best to take it in. Now there was pressure to get it right. His demon was always watching, but this time he was _actively_ watching.

“…This one, this one is telling the truth. Right?”

 _‘Correct. Now, the rest.’_ The teen chewed his lip as he turned all the information around in his head, coming to a somewhat uncertain conclusion.

“Like this…?” he clicked to complete it, whooping when he progressed. “Alright!”

_‘Well done.’_

“Thanks.”

_‘…Vergil.’_

“What?”

_‘You asked for my name before. My name is Vergil.’_

“Oh,” Nero chirped. He hadn’t ever expected that he’d actually learn it. “Thanks, Vergil.”

///

 _‘Left,’_ the voice rang in his head. Red Queen pulled out of the demon it was currently skewering to sweep to the side, slicing into another that had gotten dangerously close without his notice. Vergil hadn’t missed it, though.

“Right!” he responded, wrenching the blade back out to hack at the devil’s torso until it cleaved in two.

 _‘Pay attention, Nero. Listen.’_ The teen lifted his head to obey, hearing the shuffling of pointed, bug-like feet behind him. In a flash he made an about-face, bringing his Devil Bringer up to block a blow from a thorny pincer, stumbling under the force of it. _‘Foolish child, brace for the strike!’_ _Quit shouting at me_ , he wanted to yell back. It bounced off of his limb harmlessly regardless of his poor stance, giving him an opening to retaliate. Red Queen swung down into a domed skull that burst in a torrent of yellow fluid, making Nero dance away and want to gag. The demon screeched, tossing its head in agony. He swiftly put it out of its misery with another sword swing, landing precisely over the first and splitting its cranium open.

From its dissolving body shed a multitude of jagged, red crystalline structures, clinking onto the concrete. Nero stooped to gather them up with his Bringer, each crystal absorbing into his glowing palm.

“Here you go,” he told Vergil. Since he'd grown out of fearing Vergil, he had been feeding his Bringer the red crystals. _Power_ , the then-unfamiliar voice resonating inside him had called for, so he supposed that giving his arm this energy was helping Vergil in some way.

 _‘Your senses are more important than any weapon Nero,_ use _them. Don’t let the heat of conflict confuse them.’_

“Yeah, I know.” _Easier said than done_ , Nero thought. When he was in the thick of things his blood sang; at times being surrounded by devils scrambled his awareness like drinking too much caffeine. He often wondered if the Hellspawn had that effect on everyone, or if it was just his…unusual case. “It’s just. Hard sometimes.”

 _‘Do not sound so defeated. All you need is practice and restraint. Demon blood may be hard to control but with time you will come to have a grasp on yourself and your body, of this I have no doubt.’_ He hated it when Vergil berated him, and the subsequent encouragement was always a confusing contrast.

“Thanks. Guess you’re the only one who thinks so,” Nero sighed, remembering the curt words Credo had had for him that morning before he sent him off on this mission. It didn’t help that everything he said resonated with insecurities Nero already had. _Clumsy, rough, hyper. Undisciplined. Unknightly. But you’ve always been that way, Nero, and you never make any effort to change_. He heard Vergil scoff lightly.

_‘His opinion counts for nothing.’_

“How’d you know that’s what I meant? Also he’s my superior, so it kinda does.”

 _‘He’s wrong. Your abilities outshine anyone’s on this island.’_ Nero scratched his nose and smiled down at his arm, unslinging his pack to retrieve the sling and the wrappings to cover it again now that the combat was over.

“You’re just biased because you’re stuck to my shoulder.”

 _‘No bias, it’s simply the truth. You’re more than these mere humans.’_ That soured Nero’s smile a little. He didn’t like it when Vergil compared him to a demon. Sure, he was different now…but that was all his Bringer’s influence, right? _I was born human. I_ am _human_.

“Well, biased or no…thank you, Vergil.” His arm was bound and replaced in its sling. It didn’t hinder or quiet his demon in any way; Vergil was still as aware and present as ever under the bindings. Nero straightened his clothes, gave Red Queen a cursory cleaning, and stepped back out onto the main streets of Fortuna.

Around midday the streets were somewhat clearer with everyone disappearing for lunch, but there were still townspeople milling around. They averted their eyes from Nero and gave him a wide berth as though he were contagious. He would be lying if he said it didn’t hurt, but being left alone suited him just fine. After 17 years of the treatment he was used to it.

There was one more task he needed to complete before he could go home to clean up and report back to HQ. Kyrie was giving a big performance in the Grand Cathedral in a few days, in front of pretty much the whole town. She was so proud, spending all her time practicing and making herself a new dress to wear on the day. Nero had heard her musing on which jewellery to pair with it, so he decided he should just get her something new himself – as congratulations on her performance.

The only thing was…he didn’t know the first thing about what she would like. Jewellery wasn’t exactly in his expertise. It all looked nice enough, glittering and sparking in the glass displays of the store he’d ducked into. The shopkeepers eyed him suspiciously as he tiptoed around, chewing his lip as he tried to find a suitable gift. Red Queen was left on the umbrella rack by the entrance, as per the ‘no weapons’ sign on the door. Even Holy Knights weren’t exempt from this common rule.

Nero slipped behind a rotating shelf cabinet, out of direct sight of the jewellers that seemed determined to scrutinise his every move as though he were planning to steal something. “What do you think?” he whispered, drumming his fingers on his sling.

_‘About..?’_

“What should I get Kyrie?”

 _‘Why are you asking me?’_ Vergil murmured disinterestedly.

“Who else am I – gonna ask.” Nero dropped his voice even lower when one of the shopkeepers appeared in the aisle, pretending to busy themselves with something while making sure he wasn’t up to no good back there. Vergil tutted, actually sounding a little irritated that he was being made to help.

 _‘Anything will do, it’s just metal and gemstones.’_ While Nero mostly agreed with that sentiment he knew he had to get something that his sister would actually appreciate – she was particular when it came to her clothes. Nothing too garish or tacky; she’d want something understated and elegant. (They were on Fortuna though so everything would be elegant to a degree).

He spied a pair of earrings shaped like butterflies, the wings studded with tiny clear crystals.

“She likes butterflies,” he guessed. Girls loved butterflies, right? But sat beside those was another pair shaped like colourful flowers. Shit. Girls liked flowers too. He leaned in to check the prices, jotted down on tiny stickers by each product. Nero winced, sucking his breath in through his teeth. Both of them, over 80€?! They were so small though!

Gingerly he fished out his wallet to count the bills. 40€…He’d been saving up for a while, too. And he’d thought that would be more than enough for her gift. This was the only jewellers on Fortuna, so he had no other option if he wanted to get her something.

Sighing, Nero replaced his wallet and went on the hunt for something within his price range. He almost asked one of the shopkeepers what he could get for 40, but decided against it. It made him look like a cheapskate, and Kyrie might be insulted when the story would no doubt reach her.

“Can I help you?” came a sharp question behind him. Nero whipped around and gave the shrivelled old jeweller and awkward nod in greeting.

“Just lookin’”

“For?”

“Present for my sister.” He didn’t need to say her name; everyone knew who the model worshipper Kyrie was, and by extension everyone knew her freak adopted brother. The shopkeeper kept glaring at him from under her white hood, unflinching.

 _‘Hag._ ’ Vergil stated unhelpfully, and Nero had to rub his mouth to disguise his smirk. He dug his claws into his palm to quiet him, and Vergil _tsk_ ed again. The teen hovered away as casually as he could, searching the cabinets once more. If the only input his devil was going to offer was to be irritated and insult someone, then he was on his own for this mission.

Just as he thought the glinting of the trinkets was going to blind him he spotted the perfect candidate for his gift. A necklace, within his meagre budget, and a pretty one too. On the end of a thin chain a pair of wings stretched upwards, another pair beneath wrapped protectively around a pink droplet gemstone.

“‘Scuse me?” he called to the suspicious old lady following him around, “Can I get this one?”

 _‘Please,’_ Vergil reminded him.

“Please.” The ‘hag’ shuffled back to the till to fetch the key for the display case. Nero went back to admiring his choice with satisfaction. “Hope she likes it.”

///

 _Finally_ , Nero thought, collapsing into bed at long last. His day’s assignment had been tough. The demons kept coming and coming, lurching out from the trees of the forest from every direction. It was a little distracting having Vergil comment on his form while he’s trying to fight, but the devil was useful in alerting him to advancing enemies and helping with tactics. It had been over two months since he’d learnt his name, and the pair were becoming an effective team.

Nero rolled onto his side, burying himself under the soft duvet and laying his Devil Bringer on the pillow. There was a rustle that caught his attention, faint and brief, but he’d definitely heard it. He cocked his head toward where he thought it had come from, focussing. Again, a little sound, close, and from a direction he still couldn’t pin. There was something nosing around his room. _A rat_ , was his first thought, and he wrinkled his nose. Slowly he lowered his head to peer under his bed, eyes peeled for any movement.

“I think there’s a fucking animal in here,” he grumbled under his breath. Not knowing where the dirty little intruder was made his skin crawl.

_‘The sound is not there with you, Nero, what you’re hearing is with me.’_

“It is?” Well that was a first. He knew Vergil could hear his surroundings, but he just assumed it was a one-way thing, like the sight. It was dead quiet wherever the demon was in that case, because he only ever heard his voice and his already muted breathing. Nero never even heard Vergil _move_. “What is it?”

_‘It’s a snake. It’s gone into my coat to leech off of my body heat.’_

“What?!” There was something so jarring about the casual way he’d identified it. Vergil just hummed, seemingly unperturbed by it all. “Another demon?”

_‘Simply a regular snake. They thrive in this part of the Underworld; it’s warm and crawling with bite-sized prey. How they first got here from the human world, who can say?’_

“And. You’re just gonna let it slither all over you?” Nero shuddered, making a disgusted sound. Vergil chuckled, a quiet and breathy thing. “Just make sure it doesn’t eat you or somethin’.”

 _‘It’s welcome to try.’_ Of course that’s how he’d answer.

“What do _you_ eat, then?” The teen was ever inquisitive about his demon companion.

_‘Weaker demons. Maybe some snake if this one decides to stay for too long.’_

“Huh.” Not that he’d been expecting him to cook up some gourmet meals, but…

Nero saw an opportunity to turn the subject yet again onto his demon and took it. Vergil was on a talking streak, so why not? “What do you look like, by the way?” That was a something Nero was very curious about. Something he had spent far too long daydreaming over. Unsure what to expect, knowing that demons took on forms of every shape and size imaginable, he’d settled for the easy-to-conjure likeness of Sparda. How accurate was that, though? His demon at least had to be somewhat humanoid; he had just said he was wearing a coat after all. “Thought I should know in case I ever bump into you and attack or something, heheh.”

_‘Fear not, you would not even be able to inflict a scratch on me, little one.’_

“I always thought – super tall, horns, wings, claws; y-y’know the typical stuff. Demon stuff.” The list came tumbling out, rushed. Nero was only glad he managed to stop himself from adding muscles in there. That would be way too weird to voice on top of everything else.

_‘…Actually, I look human most of the time.’_

“You do?” _Vergil…human?_ “So, you can switch between the two, kinda like the Saviour? What do you look like as a human?”

 _‘Your assumptions are closer than you realise, Nero,’_ Vergil hummed. And left it at that. Nero could tell he’d run out of conversational steam, deciding not to press the issue any further, as much as he wanted to. When Vergil had had enough talking he’d had enough, especially when it came to revealing details about himself.

The white-haired boy settled into the pillow again, resigning himself to sleep. He shifted, puffing it up under his head. Then he adjusted his position a few more times. It seemed like it was always harder to fall asleep when he was tired. Nero flipped over and huffed angrily. _‘Sleep.’_ As if he’d forgotten why he was tucked into bed.

“I can’t.”

_‘Try.’_

“I _am_.” He pulled the duvet up higher, dipping his head into the dark. Faintly he could see the muted glow of his arm with him. “Can you talk to me?”

_‘You need to rest.’_

“No, it helps sometimes. Just say anything, I don’t care.” Insomnia brought him downstairs many a night before as a child, and Credo and Kyrie’s mother used to pray aloud to him while he sat by her feet and pretended to pray as well. The sound of her voice always sent him to sleep; just as soothing as her daughter’s. It had been a long time since he’d heard her gentle prayers. She was dead, as was her husband.

Vergil sighed, and was quiet. Nero hadn’t really expected him to humour him, so when the demon spoke it was a surprise.

_‘“Sweet dreams, form a shade_

_O'er my lovely infant's head,_

_Sweet dreams of pleasant streams_

_By happy, silent, moony beams.”’_ Vergil paused after the one verse, leaving Nero to process what he’d heard. The devil’s voice had dropped to soft and practiced. _Like a prayer_. Nero made another attempt to settle himself before the unexpected lullaby continued, bringing his right arm up to rest on the pillow with him. His palm was smooth and warm against his cheek.

_‘“Sweet Sleep, with soft down_

_Weave thy brows an infant crown_

_Sweet Sleep, angel mild,_

_Hover o'er my happy child.”’_

“Where’d you hear that? It’s human, isn’t it?” Nero lowered his voice to a whisper hushed enough to match his companion’s.

_‘Even a demon can appreciate art. Now close your eyes if you want to hear the rest.’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an introductory chapter (attempting) to outline how their connection works and their budding companionship! I have a lot more written, so expect another update soon!


	2. The Red Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG you guys! I didn't expect such a positive reaction, and so soon! Thank you all so much for your wonderful comments and kudos, I can't believe it! <3
> 
> Now, here come the events of DMC4 - I'm going to skim through it mostly bc we all know what happens, but it'll be focussing on the dynamics between our favourite devil trio! Plus there will be a few story tweaks here and there.

Unruly, rebellious, heretical – Nero was labelled as many things, but if there was one thing he took pride in, it was his punctuality. So, he was understandably pissed off to find himself late for his sister’s big performance.

His alarm clock had run out of battery on the worst possible date, he’d scratched himself in his haste to get dressed, he misplaced the holster for his pistol, Blue Rose…it just wasn’t his day at all. To top it all off he wasn’t able to give Kyrie her necklace to wear with her new dress while she sang; she was already gone by the time he made it out his room.

The demons he stumbled across in his mad dash to the Grand Cathedral were met with the full force of his irritation and dispatched of in record time. For once Vergil didn’t reprimand him for fighting sloppily. In fact, he even gave a little hum of approval when Nero used the enemy’s own weapons against them.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” he huffed, sprinting across the cobbled streets toward the pale, grandiose domed building. His Devil Bringer was tucked in its usual position, wrapped and pinned in the sling to hide it from prying devout eyes.

 _‘You could not have gotten here any faster than this.’_ Even with headphones on he could still hear him; muted under the music, of course, but audible. Not exactly the yes or no he was after, but after being connected for half a year he was used to Vergil’s roundabout way of answering him by now.

Nero’s legs were working so hard he was lucky he hadn’t tripped yet. Taking the main entrance was definitely not an option, unless he wanted the whole Cathedral to see him burst in and interrupt Kyrie. From the flowering walled garden that was popular for picnics he could get into the building and take one of the smaller side doors to the main chamber with minimal fuss.

The halls were devoid of people as he padded in from the garden. Once he pulled his headphones off he could hear his sister’s voice ringing out, swelling with the music. It bounced off of the vaulted marble ceiling and polished floors, such a loud voice from such a tiny girl. He dared to crack open one of the carved walnut doors and take stock of the room. All eyes were forward, watching the performance. No one noticed him tiptoe in or scuttle down the aisle to take his seat.

At the raised dais Kyrie held the final note of her song, the instruments above on the loft finishing with a flourish and drowned out by the applause. _Shit, I missed it_. Nero tutted and sat back with his arms folded. _At least I got the last few seconds I guess_. Hopefully Kyrie wouldn’t notice his absence. Or Credo, for that matter. He fished out the boxed necklace and placed it beside him on the pew for Kyrie to find when she made her way over to sit with him.

Nero felt heat at the tips of his demonic fingers a second later, grasping his arm in surprise. The presence of a demon? No, this felt different to the usual tingle he got in their proximity. Vergil would have felt it too, but he was worryingly silent. Nero drummed his fingers on the sling in a question he couldn’t voice, seeking his devil to reassure him. When he felt the heat flare again, and again got no answer, he decided to speak aloud despite the devotees seated around him.

“What is-” he cut himself off when he spied Kyrie approaching, beaming. Nero forced a smile at her, prodding the parcelled gift in offering. She took it gratefully, as though she had never received a present before in her life. Ever respectful, she chose not to open it while she sat to give her attention to His Holiness’ sermon.

The sensation in his hand had ceased, but Nero was still made anxious by the lack of reply on Vergil’s part. Cradling his arm again urged the demon to speak.

 _‘I felt it,’_ he confirmed, his voice clipped. Nero felt his stomach twist – Vergil wasn’t reassuring at all. Something was wrong. _What is it then_ , he wanted to ask, _is everyone in danger?_ Nero cast a look over his shoulder, scanning the rows and rows of pews for anything out of the ordinary. All eyes were watching His Holiness as he droned on at the altar. The man seated beside him gave him a sharp sidelong look, growing increasingly impatient with his fidgeting.

 _I have to get out of here._ Perhaps he could draw the danger away from the praying Fortunians, or at the very least get a better idea of what he was dealing with.

Nero stood to leave, only to be stopped by Kyrie reaching out and whispering to him.

“Nero? What’s wrong?”

“I’m outta here.”

“But it’s not over yet.”

“All this preaching is sending me to sleep,” he complained loudly. She looked hurt, but he turned to stalk away before he caught her expression. After all of two steps he faltered; his arm burst into a flurry of pins and needles, flashing bright enough to shine through both the wrappings and the sling. _Demon!_ Nero jerked his head upward toward where he felt the pull of energy, the stained glass dome of the Cathedral shattering inward in the same instant.

A man landed on the alter in a graceful crouch, unaffected by the fall from a great height. His long crimson coattail fluttered down after him. He raised a handgun and levelled it against His Holiness’ forehead, pulling the trigger, the shot ringing out through the large room. The whole Cathedral held its breath in shock and confusion, frozen.

On the altar the Red Man drew up to his full impressive height, gazing up at the towering statue of Sparda. Then he turned to glare at the crowd behind him, his face splattered with blood.

Everything burst into chaos in the next second, the devotees screaming and pushing and rushing to escape the building. Kyrie was shaking Nero, trying to snap him out of his daze; Credo stepped forward followed by rows of Holy Knights who drew their swords and dashed forward to the intruder. The first Knight was met with the Red Man’s feet as he flipped down from his perch, drawing a tall, dark blade over his shoulder to block the strikes of the cavalry. One was pinned under his foot and impaled casually, spurring Nero into action.

He grabbed his sister and ran. He needed to get Kyrie out before he could think about attacking. Kyrie had other plans, however, tugging at his pulling hand to wrench out of his grasp and dart back toward the pews. “No, Kyrie!” She scrambled to collect the blue box Nero had given her, now flattened by trampling feet in the stampede. The white-haired teen had to jerk her back to her feet, roughly, angered by her recklessness. No present was worth her life. “Get out of here!” Nero ordered, trying to shove her to the exit again.

Credo caught her, and called out to Nero amid the chaos.

“I will return with help – you stall him until then!” A display of trust, or a death sentence? It didn’t matter, Nero was going with it either way. By the time he turned back to face the dais and reached for Blue Rose, the Cathedral had emptied. All of the Holy Knights that had rushed to defend their place of worship were lying dead at the feet of their assailant, who was watching Nero’s approach patiently.

 _‘Nero, no!’_ Vergil called out at last, making Nero draw up suddenly. _‘Go with the rest. Do not engage with this enemy.’_

“What the goddamn hell are you on about?” he hissed.

 _‘You cannot hope to win.’_ Where the fuck was this coming from? Never had Vergil ever told him he couldn’t do something. He may tell him he was an idiot with every other sentence, but he was the only one who saw fit to give him any form of encouragement. _How can he say that to me?_ It was insulting. It was _infuriating._

“Fuck you!” Nero growled, breaking into a sprint. His target let him advance; stood still when he leapt up to barrel feet-first into his face. The crunch of his nose under his heel was cathartic. Breaking away, he drew Blue rose and fired a shot off, which was blocked by the crossguard of the dark sword.

 _‘Stop,’_ Vergil urged when he jumped to follow the Red Man’s sudden trajectory through the air, vaulting up the side of the Saviour’s statue to land on its arm opposite him. They each trained their firearms at each other, paused for the moment in a stalemate. _‘Nero stop this! He will kill you. If he sees your arm he will not hesitate to end your life-’_

Nero fired his handgun again, but the man leapt out of the way. Faster than a bullet at close range. The teen had never encountered a demon that looked so _human_ before. He wouldn’t let it dissuade him – all he had to remember was that it wasn’t human at all. It was a monster.

Closing the distance yet again, Nero wrapped his legs around the Red Man’s waist to hold him in place as they fell. _Try dodging this, asshole!_ Blue Rose was knocked aside before he could pull the trigger, and suddenly he found himself having to duck shots from the other’s twin pistols. He pulled the same trick and pushed the first gun away, grabbing the next between his teeth while his arm was occupied.

Nero was promptly shoved off before they hit the ground and he wasted no time in firing another round. This time the Red Man stayed put, raising his pistols to do the same. _What?_ Nero blinked owlishly at his opponent. _Did he just shoot my bullets away?!_ He pulled the trigger again, and again they were deflected by an answering pair. His confusion amused the enemy, who cracked a smug smile down at him. _‘Tell him you surrender and leave, child.’_

“No fucking way am I backing down.” Why was Vergil being this way?

“Whatever you say kid,” the Red Man finally spoke. Nero thought his drawl perfectly matched the shit-eating grin he was wearing.

“I’m not a _kid_ , stop fucking calling me that!” he spoke to the stranger and Vergil both.

“Alright,” the stranger conceded, lifting his hands. “Gotta say, I wasn’t expecting a lil’ fighter like you here.”

“You thought your killing spree was gonna be easy? Sorry to disappoint.”

“I’m not disappointed; a good fight every now and then keeps things interesting.”

“Better savour it then, ‘cause it’ll be your last!” Nero hoped the chatter was distracting enough that his opponent wouldn’t anticipate another barrage of bullets, but he was balefully wrong. Instead of countering them with his own, the demon simply twirled out of their way languidly, landing heavily on a jostled pew and resting an ankle on his opposite knee. Then he _yawned_ , and Nero felt his blood boiling.

This wasn’t going to work. The _one_ day he doesn’t bring Red Queen, and this shit happens! Well…there was only one other option if his gun was ineffective.

He yanked at the straps of his sling and it tossed it aside, moving to strip away the rest of his Bringer’s bindings. The Red Man wasn’t paying any attention, picking blood out from under his fingernails, but there was one devil who was.

_‘No, Nero, this is foolishness! Keep it hidden, if he should see it-’_

“Then what?” the teen grumbled.

_‘Then he will kill you. He is a devil hunter; if he assumes you’re anything less than human he will cut you down.’_

“A devil hunter?” he repeated, louder, now addressing the man who looked like he was falling asleep on the bench. “What the Hell are you doing on Fortuna?”

“You really need me to spell it out for you? Huntin’ devils, kid.”

“And murdering the odd human on the side?” This got him a genuine reaction, probably the first the Red Man had expressed. He narrowed his pale blue eyes at Nero, another smirk tugging at his lips. Then he gestured brusquely to the bodies strewn around them.

“They don’t look so human to me.”

Nero knew it wasn’t wise to take his eyes off of the stranger, but the comment puzzled him. What was meant to be a quick glance at one of the corpses stole his breath away. With the fellow Holy Knight’s helmet stripped away Nero could see his face; his true face. Dark, cracked skin like bark, pierced by empty eye sockets that were still glowing, mouth hung open at the end of a death rattle.

A demon. Not just that Knight, but the one next to him, and the one next to him.

“They’re…demons?”

“You didn’t know.” It wasn’t a question. No, of course he didn’t fucking know! His Holiness’ First Guard, all goddamn devils? Wait – he shot His Holiness too. Did that mean…? _What the fuck is going on here?_

Belatedly realising that he was stood with his right arm half-uncovered, Nero slid it behind his back. Good thing the other hunter wasn’t currently looking his way- “It’s a little late for that, don’tcha think?”

“Wha-”

“ _Your arm_.” The teen reached for Blue Rose again, tensing for another fight. Those ice-blue eyes found their way back to him. “Gotta say, you’re full of surprises. Though you carry something _different_ from the others…We’re the same, you and I.”

“The Hell is that supposed to mean?” The stranger got to his feet in an impossibly fluid movement, sauntering around the curving dais toward him.

 _‘Don’t let your guard down,’_ Vergil reminded him, and Nero raised Blue Rose again.

“You will come to learn the meaning soon enough. For now, though…that sounds like my cue to leave.” He raised a finger, inviting Nero to focus on the distant thumping of approaching footsteps as well.

“Oh no you don’t!” the white-haired boy launched himself at the equally white-haired man, Devil Bringer extended to grapple, not willing to let him escape. Even though he technically hadn’t actually killed any humans. Even though Vergil kept trying to dissuade him.

In the end he didn’t manage to lay a finger on him. Nero got close enough, but was interrupted by a sudden outward pulsing of energy, bursting around his target in crimson embers. In an instant the human-looking man was replaced by a very inhuman demon, grinning down at him and displaying rows of uniform sharp teeth. A pair of forked wings flashed out from its underarms, crowding the air around him and making Nero stumble back in surprise.

“Boo!” To his immense humiliation, Nero fell onto his backside, unable to stop himself from letting out a shocked gasp. The devil barked with laughter, gathering up his wings in preparation to take off. “Well at least you didn’t piss yourself kid, that’s more than most people can say.”

“F-fuck you!” he spat back, trembling with adrenaline. The devil’s voice was still its own, but warped and layered by the transformation. Even his face still had the same structure as the man it once was, buried under the sweeping horns, but that was where the familiarity stopped. His skin was dark, thick muscle and tough scales and armour; a glow like molten lava shining through between the scutes and cracks. The light was most evident at the centre of his chest, and the intricate swirls dancing across his leathery wings.

He took off from the ground with one mighty beat of those wings, the force of it whipping Nero’s hair around. By the time he got it out of his eyes and looked up after him the devil was human again, standing on the roof and peeking down through the hole in the glass dome that he’d created.

“Adios, kid!” The stranger gave him a mock salute and disappeared.

“H-hey, wait!” But it was too late.

 _‘Imbecile…’_ On his feet again, Nero searched around for his sling to hide his arm before the others got there.

It was eerily quiet in the Cathedral now that they were alone. “He didn’t kill me,” Nero pointed out. “Even saw my arm and everything.” Vergil didn’t deign to respond. “Didn’t even attack me.” Again, nothing. “So, were you saying all that shit just to fuck with me, or…?”

 _‘Don’t take that tone with me, young man,’_ his demon snapped. _‘My words were justified.’_

“And how the Hell would you know?” Ok, maybe he was still a little hurt that he didn’t have any faith in him. Vergil let out a sigh, so long and exaggerated it sounded like the life was draining out of him.

_‘Nero…’_

“I handled it, didn’t I?”

 _‘Tell me exactly when you managed to land a single blow,’_ Vergil shot back.

“The kick!”

 _‘You escaped unscathed only because he wanted you to.’_ So Vergil was just going to ignore his example of when he all but flattened his nose under his feet?

“I thought I was supposed to stop underestimating myself.”

 _‘Yes…but not in this.’_ Credo’s promised backup burst in then, and Nero covered his Bringer in his coattail. As they poured in past him, ignoring him, he couldn’t help but wonder – were any of these men now devils too? How come he hadn’t been able to sense the others before the Red Man’s arrival?

_I gotta go find Credo._

It turned out that the carnage wasn’t just limited to the Cathedral. All Hell had literally broken loose over Fortuna, hordes of demons swarming the streets openly and attacking the citizens that tried to scamper to safety. Nero was held up dealing with the vermin as soon as he stepped outside. There were far too many close calls as he stopped claws and teeth and blades mere inches from connecting with their hapless victims.

By the time the Hellspawn surrounding the fountain at the Cathedral’s entrance were dead, all of the humans had disappeared as well, either killed or evacuated. The once-beautiful fountain was cracked and spurting water like a faulty faucet, and the foundation of a large stone archway had crumbled completely into huge chunks of rubble. Nero scanned over the destruction while he caught his breath.

“What the fuck is going on here?” he mumbled to himself.

 _‘Hellgates,’_ Vergil supplied vaguely.

“Hellgates?”

_‘The number of demons appearing here at once is unusual. There must be at least one open Hellgate of a reasonable size nearby.’_

“Is that what you consider a ‘reasonable size’?” Nero pointed with his Bringer toward the massive monument at the heart of the town, the tip of one dark corner of the slab visible over the surrounding buildings.

_‘That is not the open gate – believe me, you would know if it was.’_

“Comforting,” Nero sighed sardonically. “So, we find the gate and close it. Any ideas where it is?”

 _‘Don’t bother.’_ The unexpected response made Nero splutter, staring down at his arm incredulously.

“Don’t bother?! People are _dying_ , there are _demons_ running around the island!”

_‘You misunderstand me. I simply mean that it’s not required of you. Dante will deal with the gates; it must be why he is here.’_

“Who?”

_‘…The man you just fought.’_

“That demon? Why the fuck would a _devil_ wanna close a portal to Hell?”

 _‘You are quick to forget that he is also a devil_ hunter _, Nero. He’s more than capable of handling this on his own.’_

“Fuck. That,” Nero hissed. “I’m not letting some monster be responsible for saving my island. Hell, he’s probably the one who caused this mess; he showed up before the attacks even started! I’m gonna close the gate, _and_ I’m gonna get to the bottom of why the other Knights turned against the Order.”

_‘You’re putting yourself in unnecessary danger-’_

“It’s necessary if I’m saving lives!” the teen snapped back. He was getting sick and tired of Vergil’s disparaging attitude today. “If you don’t wanna help then shut up. I’m getting Red Queen and going after Dante.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was torn between publishing everything that's been written (bc I'm excited for you all to read it jhjkfdhgjkfd) and staggering the uploads to give myself time to write other chapters. I've decided to pace myself so the uploads will be more regular, instead of one chunk with a longer wait if that makes sense :)


	3. Forging Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't get over all the lovely comments and kudos! I'm used to replying to each one, but there are so many all at once you'd all probably get sick of me saying ta in the comments, so I'll keep repeating it here. Thank you!!! <3

Nero was almost starting to think he should have listened to his demon companion. Almost.

As soon as he stepped out of town he was met with a gauntlet of demons he’d never encountered before, all of them many times more powerful than the opponents he was used to.

The first was a high-order devil that stomped down the barren street of an abandoned mining settlement on four reptilian feet, flowing into an upright torso that bore another two limbs, one grasping an enormous red-hot sword. Its face was snarling, feline, topped with two smooth horns; and its body was alight with fire.

_‘Berial,’_ Vergil identified, his voice level but laced with contempt. He didn’t offer any argument when Nero stepped out to fight the fiery demon, which struck the teen as a little odd. When he was pitting himself against that Dante-devil, Vergil had gone on and on trying to stop him – and this guy was _way_ more intimidating than Dante, in his opinion. This guy looked like he could squish Dante like a stupid red bug.

After a lot of dodging Berial’s slew of forceful sword swings and hacking away in kind with Red Queen, Nero sent the demon packing back through a flat obelisk that looked like a miniature version of the monument in town. It was obviously the conduit for a Hellgate, but he couldn’t figure out how (or if) to close it – after all, it seemed like it had become dormant once Berial passed back through.

Giving up upon Vergil’s insistence and forging onward on the trail of the other devil hunter, he found himself exiting a mineshaft and trekking the valley of mountains to the grandiose castle that, according to legend, Sparda once called home. The scenery was supposedly beautiful, especially so at night, but Nero couldn’t see a thing. It was _snowing_. In the middle of summer. Sure, it was at a high altitude, but the snow never settled so low at this time of year; and the range definitely wasn’t ever beset by a _blizzard_ mid-year.

Emerging from the white flurries came another strong new devil that Nero’s own determined to be Frosts. Even while out of reach from their claws, the teen could feel the freezing temperature rolling off of them. Revving Red Queen to her maximum was just as effective against them as anyone with a brain could guess, leaving him free to continue his journey.

“I think I’m getting better at this,” he remarked as he trudged on from the skirmish.

_‘I think you’re getting cocky,’_ his demon replied levelly. Nero tutted and shook his head exaggeratedly.

“Ever hear the phrase ‘if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all’?”

_‘Progress cannot be made without critique.’_

“Yeah, but a little encouragement wouldn’t hurt,” Nero muttered under his breath.

At the bridge leading to the main doors of the castle, he ran into a member of the Order he’d never met before, a rather skilled and scantily clad woman by the name of Gloria. Pointedly looking in any direction but hers, much to Vergil’s amusement, the two parted ways so that Nero could carry on with his journey.

_‘Blushing, Nero?’_

“It’s the cold!” he hissed back angrily. It wasn’t his fault Gloria had all her…jiggly everything on display.

Quickly recovering from the encounter and entering the castle, he was pleased to discover Dante’s trail was a lot clearer. Gouges in the walls spoke of a large blade, the individual scores too precise to be made by claws. And between them, bullet holes. There was only one person on the island, other than himself, that Nero knew to carry a firearm…

Following the evidence into a library, the young Knight was surprised to find it ransacked, as though the vandal were trying to find a specific book. His attention was quickly diverted by someone approaching him, outfitted with a suit of armour. _Another Order member,_ he guessed. _Finally, they’re sending Knights with_ actual _defence to help in town_.

His assumption was quickly dashed when he heard Vergil hiss sharply at the sight of the third party.

_‘An Angelo,’_ he spat like a curse, _‘be cautious, Nero. Angelo’s are skilled, and they are strong. Do not let your guard down.’ A demon?_ he was about to ask, when the armour lunged at him with a lance; him narrowly catching the point between the pages of a book.

Vergil wasn’t wrong – the Bianco Angelo was fast, and fought with the form of a trained fighter. Getting in close would mean getting skewered on the lance or bashed against its shield. The weapon gave it a long reach, rendering Red Queen ineffective. Blue Rose, however, gave Nero the upper hand. Dodging quickly to get behind it presented the opportunity to riddle it with bullets without the guard of the wide shield. Aiming for the black flesh between the plates of armour eventually felled the enemy, which fell apart in a tumble of clanking metal.

Nero knelt to scoop up the helmet that had rolled to his feet.

“Empty…” Across the room the rest of the suit dissolved into white light, vanishing from existence. “You were right. A demon; it possessed the Order’s armour. That’s not a good sign.”

_‘Pathetic.’_ Nero made a face at his Bringer.

“You’ve been acting kinda funny today. I’m starting to get a lil’ worried…” He didn’t get an answer, which he expected, so he let the subject drop for the time being while he continued to explore. But, after just two rooms of the lonely silence, he couldn’t keep to himself. “You gonna tell me what’s bothering you or what?”

_‘There are demons swarming the island, Nero, what do you expect me to tell you?’_

“Alright, jeez. Not that you ever cared about that shit anyway,” he grumbled back. His demon could be a real dick sometimes. Nero shoved the Devil Bringer into his pocket, wishing he could actually tuck his companion away just as easily. _Hearing voices is hard work_.

_‘Your next encounter with Dante will not end well.’_

“Ugh, this again?” Nero fished his glowing hand back out to glare at it, hoping Vergil would see his annoyance (if he even saw through the hand at all; he still wasn’t altogether sure how it all worked).

_‘I know how you so love to ignore my warnings, but please heed me now. Do not be offended when I say this – you are no match for him. He will win, and you will die.’_

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, asshole. Were you paying attention when I kicked the asses of every demon I saw today, or?”

_‘He is not like them.’_

“How come you know so damn much about this guy? You even knew his _name_.” Nero shot back. He was quickly losing his patience again. Something about Dante holding Vergil’s interest so readily, when he couldn’t even acknowledge the teen’s efforts for a split second, rubbed him up the wrong way.

Vergil was silent for a beat before replying.

_‘Most demons know of him, he is…infamous in the Underworld.’_

“Hated, huh? Not by _you_ I guess, sounds to me like you’re a little fucking obsessed.”

_‘You’re the one chasing him Nero, not me.’_ Nero grit his teeth, trying to keep himself somewhat composed, fists shaking at his sides.

“He’s trying to unleash the Underworld on Fortuna; I have to protect the people.”

_‘How noble, giving your life for a hypocrite people who would sooner see you thrown into the Underworld yourself than ever accept you.’_

“Fuck you,” he seethed, wanting to outright scream at his arm. Nero clenched his Bringer into a fist so tight that it hurt, revelling in the pain he was also inflicting on Vergil, and buried it into his coat pocket. “Just because they all hate me doesn’t mean they deserve to die. I’m missing the days when you were a mute, I’m sick of your fucking voice.” He had to concentrate to make sure his own didn’t break. As steeled as he made himself against his outcasted-ness, hearing the blunt reminder that he was so utterly unloved from his own companion was like a dagger to the heart. But he wouldn’t give Vergil the satisfaction of knowing how deeply it affected him.

The castle definitely wasn’t what Nero had expected. Everywhere there were false walls and mirrors that lead to hidden rooms, and artefacts humming with demonic energy that he had to ping-pong through the halls. This must have been added _after_ Sparda had vacated the castle; he couldn’t imagine an ancient Demon Lord putting up with all this bullshit in his house. Demons were constantly cropping up to attack him, but most of them were weak and easy to deal with. He encountered species he had never seen before, and this time Vergil didn’t give any input whatsoever. Good, Nero certainly hadn’t asked for it – he proved he could defeat them without his help.

Unfortunately, the radio silence didn’t last long. As Nero trudged out into a large courtyard, the sky dark and turbulent with the raging blizzard gripping the castle, he felt prickling in his Bringer. _Demons_. Encountering them in the storm wasn’t ideal with his senses compromised. He could take them, but he didn’t like the thought that he might not be able to see where they were striking from.

Above the razing wind his ears managed to pick something out. _A voice?_ Turning his head slowly, trying to pinpoint where it had come from, he spotted them. Two creatures, glowing a mild blue, emerged from the pelting snow. As they did the storm seemed to dim, allowing him to see and hear them better. And smell them. The necrotic scent on the air was overpowering.

They appeared as young women (though they’d never be mistaken as human), giggling and calling to him. Stopping a healthy distance away they twirled, sliding together to run their hands over one another and moan. Witnessing them grope each other’s breasts and buttocks and wave a beckoning hand flushed Nero a bright red. Then Vergil had to interject and make it even worse.

_‘Don’t be tempted Nero – this demon isn’t as it appears.’_

“ _TEMPTED?!_ What – fuck you!” Did Vergil really expect him to run on over to cop a feel himself? In a flash he drew Blue Rose and started firing on them. They wailed and shot into the air, the arrival of something larger heralded by a deep rumble through the ground. Nero leapt aside in time to dodge the carapace of an enormous demon toad erupting from the surrounding darkness, belching up foul mucus and rage. He was itching for a fight, and yet he wanted this one over as soon as possible – this demon stank to high heaven.

Nero skirted around the pillars of ice it created, dashing out from under its crushing body and avoiding getting swallowed whole several times. It continued to employ the use of its lures as well, no longer putting on the seductive act. In the end he managed to best it, as he knew he would, and sent it skittering back towards the open Hellgate. After hearing it gurgle on about reinforcements Nero made short work of snuffing out its life, the gate closing before he could be outnumbered.

There was no praise from Vergil. He’d kept quiet since before the fight.

And long after. Through new demons, _more dangerous_ demons, and more leaping around the castle, he didn’t breathe a word. “Dante’s trail’s gone cold,” Nero murmured as he strode through a large, curved tunnel. He’d _wanted_ his demon to shut up, but now the stubborn silence was grating on him a little.

_‘Hm.’ Ok. So it’s gonna be like that, huh?_

“Maybe we beat him here. Maybe he’s gone another way.” At least Nero knew he was somewhat on the right track though; if memory of boring preachy sermons served there was another obelisk-turned-dormant-Hellgate in Mitis forest, so unless Dante wanted to backtrack to take an easier route he would need to pass the rest of the way through the mountains to get there and open it.

_‘Perhaps.’_ The teen tutted and spoke to his palm,

“Are you gonna be like this all day?”

_‘I thought you preferred me a mute.’_

“I _prefer_ you not to be an asshole.”

_‘And I’d prefer it if you gave up on this useless venture. We can’t always get what we want.’_

“Ugh. Whatever.” _Dunno why I fucking bother_.

At the end of the tunnel the heavy blast doors suddenly scraped open, making Nero start. He paused and waited for something to emerge, creeping forward when the coast seemed clear. Beyond the circular doorway was an equally circular and bizarre room, banded in coppery metal with a raised contraption at the centre, and decorated with ceremonial swords.

Directly ahead of him was a broad window that opened onto the interior of a strange lab. Surrounded by blocks of machinery, a column of blue light held a broken blade, gently swaying in suspension.

At the same moment he spotted it his Bringer lit up with heat and he heard Vergil gasp – actually _gasp_ , as though all the air had been punched clean out of him.

_‘Yamato!’_ There was something starkly breathy and pained and _raw_ in his exclamation that Nero didn’t recognise; not coming from him. _‘Nero – you must-’_

“So…you’ve come.” The moment was interrupted when an unfamiliar figure eclipsed their view of the broken sword, tall even while hunched over a clipboard. Whatever his demon was going to say would have to wait. “Just as I’d expected.”

“Who the Hell are _you?_ ” He was dressed in an Order uniform, but the teen didn’t recognise him from town.

“I…am Angus.” The stranger gave a deep, exaggerated bow and Nero officially lost all interest in whatever bullshit this Order loon was about to spout. He gave him his usual back-and-forth; made some sarcastic comments and poked fun of his speech impediment until the guy released some sharp flying demons into the chamber with him. Hauling Red Queen over his shoulder, Nero beat the devils away while Agnus muttered something about his brother Credo. The mention of _Dante_ , however, made him snap back to attention.

“Dante? You mean the demon that killed His Holiness? What the Hell’s goin’ on here?” As he should have expected, he didn’t get an answer. Agnus signed him off as dead meat and Nero launched into the task of killing the pests buzzing around him. They zipped around his head at high speed and threatened to slice him, but he saw an opening to end it when they transformed back into ceremonial swords. He grappled them with his Bringer and flung them at the glass separating him and the stuttering Order official. It cracked, and Agnus let out a cry of disbelief. _Heh. There’s my way forward!_

Utilising more demons, and even the use of electricity, Agnus attempted to stop him. But Nero was too agile to be caught by either, finally shattering the large pane of glass in a rain of thick shards. Watching Agnus scramble backwards on his ass was beyond satisfying after the crap he’d tried to pull. “Alright, you gonna let me through or do I need to kick your ass too?”

“T-t-that’s demonic power!” the official exclaimed, pointing a shaky gloved finger at his Bringer. _Oh great_. Well, it was too late now to hide it.

“That’s rich coming from you!” he lifted the tip of Red Queen to gesture back. Would anyone believe this nut if he told everyone about his arm?

_‘Enough of this Nero, leave him. The sword, you_ must _take that sword with you.’_

“What’s the deal with this?” Nero jerked his head toward the pillar of light beside them, addressing Agnus who was still edging closer to marvel at his right arm. The question diverted his reverent attention.

“This…this is a Devil Arm of _incredible_ power…perhaps the most p-p-powerful of them all. With this, I have been able to summon countless demons, harnessing their souls at the wishes of His Holiness.”

“Summon… _you’re_ the one opening the Hellgates?!” _Has the Order been behind this this whole time? What the FUCK?_

“Yes. But perhaps we should have been searching closer to home to find demons.” Agnus grinned wickedly, fixing his stare back onto his Bringer. Nero curled it into a fist, his temper flaring.

“I am _not_ -”

_‘Nero!’_ His head spun as he was swept across the room in an instant, pain blooming razor sharp in his abdomen. Colliding with the far wall, he tried to clutch at his stomach, his fingers meeting instead with the cold metal of a lance. The Bianco Angelo that had pierced his torso relinquished its weapon and floated away slowly to Agnus’ side. Another two fell into position alongside it.

“There. You’re much more t-t-tolerable like this.” Nero couldn’t give any response beside a weak gurgle. Darkness bled into the corners of his vision. He gasped quick and shallow. Tasting blood. The pain in his gut only seemed to increase.

_‘Nero!’_ He wished he could respond. The alarm in his devil’s voice flooded him with fear. A torrent of thoughts flooded his hazy mind all at once.

_Am I gonna die? If I’m a demon will I end up in Hell? Will there be anything afterward for me at all? What about Kyrie and Credo?_

However, the thought that stood foremost from the others –

_If I die, what will happen to Vergil?_

Faintly he was aware that Agnus was talking, but he might as well have been a million miles away. All he could focus on was the flesh and organs that had been reduced to mush, gravity pulling him down against the lance at his ribs. He was torn between wishing he would die quickly to put him out of his misery and fighting fearfully against the rapid decline of his consciousness.

Like a beacon in the storm, Vergil’s voice called out to him. _‘Nero you must remove it to start healing, quickly!’_ His Bringer was hot, tingling, though he could barely feel it. He could barely feel anything, now. Everywhere was warm, the cosy floating at the edge of sleep. _‘No, don’t give in Nero! Fight!’_

_Fight!_


	4. Angels?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a really hard time deciding where to end this chapter! It's a bit longer this time because it felt more natural to separate the story in certain places.
> 
> The DMC4 storyline only has one more chapter to go until I gotta share the shit I tried to come up with my own haha.
> 
> Also I'm so sorry that I cop out of including some fight scenes in this fic!

His ears were ringing. And one of his legs was bent at a funny angle. These were the first two things Nero became aware of again. He shifted, slowly straightening his leg from where it was folded under his other on the floor. Taking stock of himself, he noted that his knee was a little sore…and that was about it. Nothing else hurt.

Tentatively, he brought his hand up to his stomach. Where he was sure a wide, gaping hole should be, he found only his unbroken skin and a rip in his clothing. _I’m…alive?_ Sure enough when he opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of the laboratory ceiling. _I’m alive._

“Vergil?” he murmured, flexing the claws of his right hand. To his vast relief, his devil responded immediately.

_‘You’re awake.’_

“Yeah…what happened?”

_‘You lost consciousness.’_

“Oh, is that all?” he snarked back, but his tone was heavy with fatigue. Vergil sighed and remained silent for a long moment while Nero gathered himself enough to sit.

_‘In your stupor you were able to summon the Yamato. The blade reformed, and…’_

“And?”

_‘And I was able to defend you.’_

“ _You_ …How?”

 _‘I know how well you enjoy a lecture on the demonic, Nero.’_ The teen scoffed, getting to his feet and examining his belly through the hole in his jacket and shirt.

“Try me.”

_‘That blade is extraordinarily powerful. In your time of need it was able to…summon me, a part of my soul, to aid you in combat.’_

“So…you were here? Fighting?”

‘Yes and no. The entity created by the Yamato was merely a spectre of my soul’s energy.’

“Alright,” he conceded. It was a lot to take in, all at once, after nearly dying. “Where is it now?” The only sword he could see was Red Queen, which he stooped to collect from across the lab. All the shards of glass had been swept along with it, as though a huge gust of wind had pushed everything against the far wall.

_‘You’ve absorbed it.’_

“Huh.” Nero regarded his demonic arm, as he had countless times before. It still looked the same as always. “And where’d that Order weirdo go – you scare him off?”

_‘Indeed. He, too, was a demon. During the commotion he fled.’_

“…And me?” he asked quietly, holding his scaled wrist gently in his human hand. The wrist of the arm that had appeared one day out of the blue, the arm that he tried so hard to hide, the arm he _hated_ so fiercely, the arm that connected him and his companion. Said companion was silent, not grasping the meaning of his question. “If they’re all demons, what does that make me? Am I human at all?” Nero trailed off, voice thick, until the lump in his throat went down. “I’m completely healed. There’s no blood. It must have evaporated, just like-” _Just like the corpse of a demon._

He wanted Vergil to tell him he was human. That his arm hadn’t changed him. He wanted it so desperately.

 _‘We should make haste if you still insist on chasing after Dante.’_ Nero sheathed Red Queen, trying to expel his ineffable grief with a deep sigh. He had other things to worry about right now than his pervading identity crisis.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

///

Taking a bridge that cut straight through the heart of a great waterfall behind Fortuna Castle brought Nero to a tunnel cut into the mountains, opening out at a cliff overlooking Mitis Forest. The weather had cleared from the thick, light-blocking cloud cover to a crystal clear blue sky. In fact, it was a lot hotter in the forest than usual. _Tropical_. Something had altered the habitat until it was almost jungle-like; new, foreign plants grew amongst the usual temperate greenery, and the air was muggy and thick with the chirping of birds and insects.

“More crazy weather,” the teen huffed, and his devil hummed in agreement.

“Huh,” another party added. Nero spun around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t get whip-lash. There was no one there. “What the Hell is this?!” came from behind him again, and this time when he turned he saw none other than Dante, standing just a few metres away and gesticulating at the forest below. Nero had Blue Rose trained on him in record time, body tense with the impending threat of a fight. “Must be the effect of the Gate…”

Was Dante… _ignoring_ him? There was no way he hadn’t seen him there, but he had yet to acknowledge him at all. Nero cleared his throat loudly, and the red demon spun around languidly and smiled as though he really had just spotted him. “Sorry kid. This is gonna have to wait.” Dante gave a lazy wave and pitched backward on the balls of his feet, right off of the edge of the cliff. All the teen could do was rush to the edge after him and watch as he fell into the canopy below. Vergil scoffed.

“You really think that guy is here to _close_ the Gates? He acts pretty-” Suspicious? Infuriating? Crazy? “…unpredictable.”

 _‘Whatever Dante is here to do, rest assured it will be toward the benefit of the humans on the island.’_ Nero hated to admit it, but he was starting to think Vergil may have the right of it there. The red devil had yet to attack him unprovoked, and he hadn’t witnessed him harming any humans. Vergil was rarely wrong in his experience, too.

But that wouldn’t stop him pursuing him. He had to know more than Nero about this situation.

“You talk like you know him.”

 _‘As I said before, he’s infamous in the Underworld.’_ They left it at that and got back to their trek through the woods.

Ever since the day his arm changed, Nero had hated Mitis Forest. That day he’d been following Kyrie’s lead to the abandoned churchyard for a picnic, as they often did, and wandered straight into the company of an intensely hungry demon. The beast was large, frilled, and reptilian; hunched over on all-fours and slavering from between rows of jagged teeth. Nero had yelled at his sister to run, trying to shield her body with his. He was unarmed, but fiercely determined to keep Kyrie safe.

The beast lunged, attempting to circumvent Nero and go after the smaller target that was fleeing. Nero was knocked aside trying jump onto its back to redirect its attention, and when the demon caught the skirts of a shrieking Kyrie’s dress and yanked her toward its waiting mouth something inside of him snapped. All of his anger and hatred and fear and intent spread from deep within his heart to the very tips of fingers as he reached out and grabbed the devil’s bony head with talons of his own, slamming it into paste against a nearby rock.

Luckily Kyrie passed out and hadn’t seen it. Luckily she believed him when he said he had his arm wrapped in his coat because it was injured.

When he came across the same chapel that they’d been heading to in his memory he stopped to admire the little fountain in the courtyard. It was as dilapidated as the rest of the building, the water’s still surface choked by pond-scum.

_‘“I saw a chapel all of gold,_

_That none did dare to enter in,”’_ Vergil recited softly. It made Nero smile.

“Got one for every occasion, huh?”

_‘It serves to be best prepared.’_

“Heh. Well, I hope you’re feeling daring because we have to go in.” Contrary to his words, he took a seat on the lip of the fountain. He could do with a quick break, despite being unusually energised since the incident in the lab. “So, this sword,” Nero began, wiggling the fingers of his Bringer, “How do I draw it out exactly? I can…sort of feel it in there, but…every time I try to get it out it feels like its resisting. Like its stuck.” His devil hummed in thought, the way he always did when he was about to give a lecture on the supernatural.

_‘The Yamato takes a vast amount of energy just to wield. Devil Arms feed off of the soul of their user, which is why humans cannot employ them for any length of time without being killed. She likely feels ‘stuck’ because she’s waiting for you to restore your power levels first. Count yourself lucky; usually Yamato would have just killed you. You must be held in high regard.’_

“Wow, how flattering,” Nero blurted sarcastically. He didn’t feel _that_ lucky owning an inanimate object that apparently liked to suck the life out of people. “I guess it’s another Underworld-famous thing since you know so much about it.”

_‘Indeed. Yamato was one of three responsible for separating the Underworld from this one thousands of years ago, when wielded by Sparda during his rebellion.’_

“Woah. _Woah_. WHAT?” Nero shot up onto his feet, grasping his arm like he’d just discovered it was a bomb. “This sword used to belong to Sparda? _The_ Sparda? As in, the demon that we worship here as a God?”

_‘The very same.’_

“Wow. Okay. Shit.” _No wonder that creep had it hidden in his freaky demon lab._ “This is gonna sound stupid but…am I even supposed to have this? Shouldn’t it be like, in a museum or something?”

_‘Hm. Yes that did sound stupid.’_

“ _Vergil,_ c’mon.”

 _‘The Yamato came to you willingly, Nero. To have her locked away anywhere would be an egregious waste. She trusts you with her care – as do I.’_ Trust. That was a strong word, at least to Nero. The amount of people who had ever trusted him for any reason was a good, solid zero. It may have been quite the misfit pair who put their faith in him – a demon and an ancient demonic weapon – but to him it was more than he could’ve ever hoped for.

Warmth flooded into his chest, making him break out into a huge grin.

“Thanks!”

Predictably, they ran into another strong demon at the next Hellgate. Each one pissed Nero off more than the last. Needless to say, when the serpentine demoness disappeared back through the Gate it was a big relief.

“HQ,” Nero pointed out the fortress where a glimpse of it could be seen through the thinning trees. “Guess we better head that way. His Holiness has a lot of damn explaining to do.”

_‘Expect to encounter hostility.’_

“Yeah no shit.” The teen used his Devil Bringer to grapple onto a high branch and swing over a stream. “How’d they turn into demons, anyway? They were human to begin with.”

_‘I have to admit I have no idea. You’re correct in thinking that they were originally human…somehow the Order have managed to start producing these artificial demons en masse. Such a feat has never been heard of before.’_

“That why I can’t sense them?” Nero tapped on his faintly glowing palm. “Because they’re fake?”

 _‘Perhaps…though fake may not be the most accurate term. They are demons, make no mistake, but a_ true _demon is born and not created - whether that be from its parent’s womb or materialising in more complicated means.’_

“Uh-huh.” Credo and Kyrie’s father had always hated that slow _uh-huh_. It meant that Nero wasn’t fully listening to the lesson, and he got a crack across his knuckles countless times as a kid for it. “It sucks that I might be standing right in front of a demon and not know it.”

Finally, he made it onto the familiar path leading to HQ. The ocean below the long bridge was calm, lapping gently at its feet. Now that he’d exited the forest the humidity dissipated, but the stillness of the air remained. _Wonder if Dante’s been this way. Does he know His Holiness is still alive? Has he noticed that I’ve been closing the Gates? Been doing his damn job for him._

Coming to the circular plaza at the entrance, Nero drew up at the sight of his brother stalking toward him. On a good day Credo looked surly, but now he looked outright _murderous_. “That’s a look you shoot your enemy,” the pearly-haired boy called out. Credo didn’t stop his advance. “…Ok…well, lemme ask you this. What exactly is the Order after? And who the Hell is Dante?!”

“You do not DEMAND answers from me!” Credo’s sword flashed into his peripheral, and Nero stumbled back to avoid getting slashed. _What the-_

Credo swung at him again, and this time the blow was blocked by his Devil Bringer. The recoil from the impact sent his older brother skidding back a few feet, eyes now trained on his right arm. “You possess the power of a demon.”

“What the Hell are you doing?!” Credo…would he really turn on him because of his Bringer? _Of course he would_ , a hissing voice spoke at the back of his mind, _he’s with the Order. He was just looking for an excuse to get rid of me-_

“My mother and father let you into our home. Took you in from nothing, provided for you, let you be a part of our family…and you were _lying_ to them the entire time, to all of us. You were a demon all along!”

“N-no! It’s not like that!”

“Enough! Nero…as captain of the Holy Knights, I am placing you under arrest!” Credo extended his sword toward him, and was suddenly wreathed in a golden light that grew so bright that the younger had to avert his eyes…and when he looked back, his brother was gone.

“No…you too?” A demon was hovering where Credo once stood, white and gold feathers arranged neatly over dark blue skin. They’d gotten to him as well. Whatever lies they were feeding the other Order members to convince them to change had managed to snare even his stoic, loyal older brother.

“Who better to bring a demon to justice than an angel?”

“Angel?! Look at yourself! You’re just another devil!”

“Silence!” Credo landed heavily on his avian feet, summoning a long and ornate spear into his hand. Before Nero could even blink he’d flung it at him and blinding speed, forcing the teen to dive out of the way, and summoned yet another to replace it.

_‘Defend yourself, Nero. Don’t let your familiarity hold you back!’_

“I can’t hurt him!”

 _‘He will not extend you the same courtesy.’_ A spear whizzed past his ear far too close for comfort, and Nero reluctantly pulled Red Queen from his shoulder. _Vergil’s right. Credo…what have you done? Did you even think of Kyrie?_

“Do not resist me!”

“Fuck you!” Nero dashed forward to meet Credo’s blade with his own, and was parried by the shield-like plate on his left arm. He knew exactly what Vergil was about to say – _brace for the strike_ – and widened his stance to throw off an answering blow. The crossing of their swords was a familiar dance; they’d trained together many times before. But this time Credo wasn’t holding back.

The elder leapt away to create some distance and started throwing more spears, which were all dodged. Nero closed the gap and slashed at his unguarded side, slicing into the dark flesh. He panicked when Credo grunted in pain. He didn’t really want to hurt him, but he’d be damned if he’d let any Order maniac treat him like shit again and get away with it. Not after this. _Fucking hypocrites_.

 _‘Your left,’_ his devil warned him, and he brought Red Queen up to block a stroke that he hadn’t clocked. _‘You’re looking without seeing. Take a breath, and focus. Your foe is no match for you, do not get overwhelmed.’_ Another parry from his shield made Nero’s teeth chatter. _How the fuck do I look and not see?_

Credo used the moment to put space between them again, and Nero tried to take Vergil’s advice. A deep breath – look at Credo. Even as a demon he had the form of a fighter. Poised. The result of discipline and training.

“He’s still fighting like a human,” Nero noted aloud. His brother was too far away to hear, appearing to be taking stock of his opponent too.

_‘Indeed. He can’t have been turned very long ago.’_

“He’s never seen me fight with my arm.” _He’s giving his all, but I still have more tricks up my sleeve_. Nero took two heavy steps forward and planted his feet, reeling his right shoulder back and snapping it forward to snatch Credo in his Bringer’s spectral reach from halfway across the plaza. If his brother’s shocked exclamation was any indication, he hadn’t been expecting _that_. Twisting his whole back into it, Nero slammed him down onto the limestone flagging repeatedly. Credo flexed his arms and struggled out of the crushing grip in a flurry of feathers.

“You little brat!”

“Stand down, asshole!” Another spear was aimed his way; this time Nero caught it in his Bringer and hurled it back with a cry. It pierced Credo through his hip, entering above his armoured groin and exiting at his back.

“AGHH!” While he was distracted trying to pull the spear out Nero grabbed him once more, this time by his head, and slammed it down so hard it crumbled a dent into the plaza. A memory of doing something similar in a fit of unfathomable rage to the demon that had attacked Kyrie flashed by, making him release his brother. He was human again, wheezing and groaning and struggling to stand. It was over.

“You let them turn you into a demon.” Credo shook his head vehemently. “ _Yes_. Open your _fucking_ eyes already! What do you think this’ll do to Kyrie?! Don’t you care about her at all?”

“Don’t you _dare_ \- you-you’re a fine one to talk.”

“At least I’m not a demon by choice!” Nero tossed back. “Think I fucking asked for this?” Far too much emotion was bleeding into his voice for his liking, so the teen turned on his heel and stomped off to HQ.

“Nero! Nero _wait!_ They’ll kill you if they get the chance!”

“Oh yeah? I get that everywhere I go,” he muttered under his breath. It was a bit late for Credo to start caring whether he lived or died. Nero didn’t look back.

HQ was empty. Aside from the Angelos. Usually it had Holy Knights marching around and the devout crowding alters to pray and socialise. Not today.

Using the power of a demonic by-product that he’d absorbed at the last Hellgate, Nero was able to reduce the vines blocking his way to dust. He didn’t say a word as he forged ahead, mind clouded and busy. Things were so much easier just that morning when the biggest of his problems was getting to Kyrie’s performance on time. Hell, things were even easier when he’d thought Dante was the cause of the sudden devil infestation. Since then he’d learnt that it was the Order itself opening the Gates, and that several of the Holy Knights had willingly turned themselves into demons on some kind of crack-pot belief that they were now all angels. His brother included.

How could Credo do that to them?

He’d come too far now not to see this through to the end – he was going to close the Gates once and for all and bring the people who’d orchestrated this to justice.

The teen was so lost in thought he didn’t pay attention to the prickling in his Bringer until he almost stormed smack-bang into the devil Dante. Nero stopped with a start before regaining his footing. He hated everything about the scene before him in that moment. He hated the way Dante’s claymore was already unsheathed, like he was ready to fight, he hated that he’d beat him there, he hated that he dodged all his questions just like everyone else, and perhaps most of all he hated the ever-present smug look that Dante was, of course, wearing.

“What took you so long?”

“What are _you_ doing here? Ugh forget it, I don’t have time for this!” Nero brushed past the red-clad man hastily. He was on a mission, Dante was just wasting his time at this point.

“Neither do I,” a hand gripped onto his shoulder much harder than necessary, and Nero twisted away to throw a punch that was immediately caught, “so I’ll cut to the chase.” Nero tried to tug his arm back, growling and digging his heels in, but Dante was unmoved. When he released his hand the younger went flying, slamming his back painfully into a wall. “I’m here for the sword.”

There was no question as to which sword he meant. Nero reached deep, feeling the aura of the Yamato; and this time when he pulled she slipped free with ease and materialised in his grip in a flash of blue light. The energy they fed through one another in a loop was intoxicating, like how he imagined taking a stimulant drug was like. Everything was sharper, clearer, almost painfully so. He felt powerful.

“Your point being?” _He’ll get it over my dead body_. Dante was appraising him, finally displaying an emotion other than cockiness. What exactly that emotion was, Nero couldn’t place. _Fucking respect, hopefully_. Vergil had said that only the powerful could wield Yamato.

“It was originally my brother’s…It’s gotta stay in the family. Return it to me, and I’ll let you go kid.” Not respect, then. _Wait – brother? Isn’t this Sparda’s –_ “Well?” Dante drawled, holding a hand out expectantly. “Are you gonna make me count to three?” Saviour, he wanted to slash right through his stupid hand.

 _‘Be careful,’_ Vergil warned him as expected.

“What do you think?” Nero asked aloud, aiming the question at his devil.

“I think you’re a little young to be playing with knives,” Dante sassed back, but he was tuned out in favour of Vergil’s response.

 _‘I am loathe to admit that Dante would be my second choice for possession of the Yamato, weapon hoarder that he is…but I dread to think what he’d use her for. Most likely to open cans,’_ he mused. _‘That doesn’t mean I wish for you to engage in combat with him again.’_

Nero didn’t give either of them a response, choosing instead to lunge forward with the katana. Dante pulled his dark claymore up in a flash, knocking Yamato away. Both swords separated with a resonant ringing that grew preternaturally louder and more sonorous as it drew out, the sound vibrating up the younger’s arm pleasantly.

“Ain’t that cute – they’re saying hello.” The larger blade was twirled in the demon’s hand effortlessly. _Show off_. “They’re sisters, y’know. Probably miss each other.”

“Boo-hoo.” He darted forward again, blood singing in his veins, blades meeting over and over in a spray of sparks. The sound they made together was more akin to the deep chiming of a bell than the clash of steel.

Dante didn’t make a single offensive move against him. He parried endlessly, looking for all the world like he was bored of humouring him – which frustrated Nero to no end. Even with a legendary sword no one would take him seriously, would they? With a huff he pulled away, frowning. He wasn’t going to get anywhere with this; Dante was obviously just toying with him. “This is wasting my time. Get outta my way!” Another deflected swipe and Nero’s temper skyrocketed. Vision red, he stabbed forward at speed with a yell, only for his opponent to twist out of the way and push him flat onto his face from behind. He flipped onto his back, the soft skin of his neck meeting the cold bite of Dante’s sword. The devil pressed his boot into his Bringer, effectively pinning the Yamato.

Defeated. Humiliated. _Again_.

“You done with the tantrum, kid?” Nero turned his face away from the claymore, scowling at the Devil Arm in his possession and the devil arm that had ultimately failed to wield it. Why was he so pathetic? Why couldn't he stop people from walking all over him all the time? The only one who he felt had ever not done so, had ever at least tried to inject him with some confidence, was Vergil (and even then it was intermittent), and he wasn’t even _human_. “What? What’s with the pout?”

“You look as if you’ve just been playing me from the beginning!” Dante scoffed, resting his sword on his shoulder and backing off. Nero slowly got himself up, angling himself away so that Dante couldn’t see how red his face had turned.

“Look, usually I don’t like taking from children, but I’m afraid I really need that sword.”

“So do I!” Nero tightened his grip on the Yamato, bringing it closer to his body. “I _need_ this…you already have your own!” Dante chuckled, releasing the rest of the breath in a sigh.

“…Then keep it.” Nero was stunned into silence, left blinking at Dante dumbly. He wasn’t expecting him to back down at all. “I’ll let you borrow it for a while.” Then something even more unexpected happened – Dante gave him a smile, a real, genuine one instead of his usual knowing smirk. “Get goin’ kid. Don’t wanna keep you any longer.”

Nero knew he should say thank you, or at least return the smile, but all he could manage was a small nod as he stepped past the red obstacle. “Wait – one last thing,” Dante called after him. “What’s your name?”

“Nero…you’re Dante, right?”

“Uh-huh. Be careful out there, kid. And don’t lose my sword, yeah?” The teen gave another nod, and left.

Yamato dematerialised back into his arm, giving him a rest from the feedback loop of energy. It was exhilarating at first, but it quickly became draining as he lost stamina. _Must be that soul-sucking thing Vergil mentioned._

_‘Dante has taken a shine to you.’ Speak of the devil._

“What makes you think that?”

 _‘The fact that you’re still alive, and he’s let you walk away with the Yamato. Not only does he not view you as his enemy, but he’s given you custody of his family’s heritage.’_ Great. As if Nero wasn’t already feeling the crushing weight of responsibility, now he had another person to disappoint.

“About that. You said Yamato used to belong to Sparda, and Dante said it was his brother’s…I never heard of the Saviour having a brother.”

_‘He didn’t. Dante is his son.’_

“Oh. Okay,” was all he could muster up, as if he hadn’t just been told that the devil-man he’d been chasing for the whole day was the son of the God his people revered. In truth, he felt as though he’d collapse if his brain were fed any more mind-bending information. _This day keeps getting weirder and fucking weirder_. “So he’s a demon but also a demon hunter, he looks super convincingly human, he’s apparently not evil or whatever but he’ll shoot an old guy in front of hundreds of people, and he’s also practically a god?”

 _‘A_ god?!’ Vergil near spluttered. _‘Demons make for false gods. And don’t say that in his hearing Nero, whatever you do. If his ego were any bigger I’m convinced it would crush him.’_

“Heheh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I don't know if I described it well at all, but Nero's usual Devil Trigger phantom is a spectral Vergil instead! And no, Dante didn't see it - we all know he'd have freaked the fuck out)
> 
> All these comments and kudos are seriously giving me life! I love to hear about how excited y'all are for things to come. Thank you so much for taking the time out to show me the love! <3


	5. Power to Protect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these comments are so thoughtful, I wasn't expecting such a reaction to this fic! Sorry for the later upload on this one, I had to rewrite a lot of it bc it felt too empty (and lazily written lol). Still not sure what to make of it, probably still extremely ooc, but I hope you all enjoy it either way!

Even after all the crazy bullshit he’d been through today, the last thing he was expecting to run into next was a giant statue. Though the platform Nero was on reached around it’s midriff it still loomed over its brick scaffold, sweeping horns splitting the sky.

“What the…” _Don’t tell me - is that supposed to be Sparda? Of course. Why am I even surprised?_ Whoever built it obviously had a warped view of their demon God.

_'What an eyesore.'_

“Is it not beautiful?” rang down from above. None other than Sanctus was perched way up on the statue’s head, glowing and billowing in a non-existent wind. Nero drew Blue Rose on him.

“I think we’ve got a difference of opinion on that one.”

“How unfortunate…” _Uh-oh, I can sense a sermon coming on_. Saviour knew he’d sat through way too many of those. The teen lined up his mark and fired, his target sidestepping the shot with a furrowing of his outrageously bushy brows. “Insolent child. You dare to oppose the power of our Saviour?”

“Go blow yourself!”

_‘Good one Nero,’_ Vergil deadpanned. Ok, so he’d work on his one-liners.

“Allow yourself a glimpse of His benevolence,” Sanctus intoned, the golden light surrounding him growing brighter as he phased right into the solid rock at his feet.

“Hey, w-” a tremor shook the platform under Nero’s feet, and before his very eyes the statue began to _move_. It lifted an almighty fist above him, bringing it down with a crack. The attack was easily dodged, telegraphed and slow as it was. “How am I gonna fight this thing?” He couldn’t shoot it or hack at it with Red Queen; it would just bounce right off.

_‘I’d wager that those orbs are it’s weak points. Can’t you feel the energy they exude?’_

“Yeah, let’s go for it!” Nero revved his sword and darted out from under another fist. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to jump to the closest orb from the platform, so he took advantage of its lowered arm by vaulting onto the hand and sprinting up along the limb. As it drew back he worked to keep his balance, avoiding the palm that tried to swat him like a bug. _A little closer…_

Nero pushed out with his long adolescent legs, leaping in a perfect arc toward the blue jewel on the statue’s chest. Red Queen came down in a wreath of flame, hitting the dome square-on and creating hairline cracks in the glassy exterior. With nothing to hold onto, he was forced to jump back toward the platform to try again.

But he was snatched up before his feet could hit the ground.

An enormous hand wrapped around him, holding Nero fast in it’s crushing grip. _When the fuck did it get so fast?!_ Sanctus reappeared once more.

“Such a shame…but one of your blood may be useful to us yet.” Nero kicked and squirmed with all his might, tossing his head to and fro in his efforts. He was stuck fast; his Devil Bringer sticking out of his prison gave him no purchase to aid in freeing him. His claws scraped at his trap ineffectually.

Sanctus floated down to him and Nero lashed out with his talons, bristling. The old man watched him struggle impassively. “There is but one more thing I need.” A wrinkled hand extended toward his Bringer, the flailing limb suddenly frozen in the grasp of false demonic power. It burnt Nero’s natural blood, setting his nerves alight as though every little muscle in his arm was cramping severely. Then he felt it – a harsh tug from deep inside, invasive and foul. His Holiness was after the Yamato.

“No! Stop!” With a sickening and agonising tear she was yanked free, pulled through the air and into the wrong hand. “NO!” _That’s Dante’s, he gave it to me!_

_‘Yamato!’_

“When your blood, and this sword, are combined, we will be able to proceed to the final stage of our ultimate goal!”

"You fucking _maniac!"_

A flash of white, and Nero’s view of Sanctus was blocked by a feathered devil. It slashed at the elder and called over its shoulder,

“Nero! Run!” _Credo?_ Had he just _attacked_ His Holiness? The teen renewed his fervent thrashing, his mind barely registering the sleek blade pushing through his brother’s torso until he heard his cry of pain.

“CREDO!” The devil form faded, leaving his brother stood with the Yamato sliding ever deeper into his gut. Once up to the hilt Sanctus ripped her free. Credo fell back off of the statue’s head, bloodied and limp. “NOOO!” Nero howled, reaching out for him fruitlessly until he was gone from his sight, missing the red shape that caught his body. _Credo! No no nonoNO!_

Anger surged red-hot through him. He was going to tear Sanctus to fucking pieces.

With an enraged cry he flung his spectral arm out, slapping the old lunatic flat onto the statue – only to find that he’d warped right out from under the attack. Before he could even blink the Yamato was next turned against him, piercing right through his Devil Bringer and pinning it in place. “AAGH!”

_‘NERO!’_ His demonic limb was trembling violently under the blade, aggravating the injury.

“You fool! Escape is now impossible! The creation cannot be stopped!” Dark spots danced around the edge of his vision as Yamato was pulled back out, taking all his energy with her.

_‘No, Nero, you must keep your eyes open,’_ his demon urged.

“Vergil, I…I lost it. Y-Yamato…”

_‘Don’t fret over that right now, just-’_

“I’m sorry.” For the first time since it had formed, his Devil Bringer felt cold. The darkness eclipsed him altogether. “I’m sorry…”

///

When Nero regained some semblance of consciousness, he was awash with confusion. He was floating, suspended in complete blackness. His hearing sounded muffled, the way it is underwater. It was warm. Like he was back in the womb.

_‘Nero…’_

“…Vergil?” _What’s happening?_ Where the Hell were they? He attempted to cast his mind back – what was the last thing he could remember? He and Dante fought, Dante gave him the Yamato, he forged on ahead… He cast his gaze to his Bringer. The light that pulsed through the jagged slashes had gone out. Nero couldn’t feel Yamato’s presence.

_‘Nero, listen to me…’_ his devil’s voice faded in and out from under the soft roaring of the void. _‘…wake…you have…’_

“What…?” Nero strained to hear him, battling against the static in his brain. A lone pinprick of light blinked into existence ahead of him, a single blue star against the empty cosmos.

_‘Wake up…little…’_ He reached out with his dead Bringer, trying to cup the distant star in his claws. _‘…one…’_

As he struggled some of the fog cleared from his mind, revealing his memory in bright flashes. The statue, Sanctus, Yamato – _Credo!_

“No…Credo…” Nero choked, dropping his hand back to his side. Yamato was lost, ripped right out of him by His Holiness and used to murder his brother right in front of his eyes. He’d passed out a moment later as the damned statue was absorbing him, and who knew how long it’d been since then.

It was over. He’d failed. Fortuna would be overrun, and the demons would spread to the mainland.

His one tiny consolation was that Dante might still be alive, fighting to finish the job for him.

The light ahead flared briefly, and Vergil’s voice grew in strength.

_‘Giving in? Where’s that stubborn boy I know?’_

“He…is _tired_ ,” he ground out. Talking was a monumental effort; every syllable felt like he was chewing through hard toffee. The star grew brighter.

_‘That never stopped him before.’_ Suddenly Nero realised what – who – the star was. _Vergil_. Wherever he went his devil truly went with him. Again, he reached out to it, willing himself closer. He could feel his demonic fingertips tingle and used the sensation to guide him.

Gradually, and with increasing speed, the star expanded and grew so bright that Nero was forced to close his eyes against it. But he could still feel it when it enveloped him, like the warm heat from the sun on his skin. _‘He doesn’t know the meaning of surrender,’_ his devil declared, his voice so clear and close it was like he was physically there and talking right into his ear. _‘He’s headstrong, and wilful, and driven, and he never listens.’_

“What’d you say?” It was almost painful to speak, but it was worth it to hear Vergil’s near inaudible huff.

_‘But…I need him to listen to me now. Nero, you have all the strength you need; I know you can resist the spell of this pathetic pretender.’_

By the Saviour he was _exhausted_ , at the end of his rope…but Vergil was right. Nero did not give up. He had people counting on him – Kyrie was still in the middle of this mess somewhere on the island, and he needed to give Dante his heirloom back. Every man, woman, and child on Fortuna and beyond was in danger of the Order of the Sword and the demons they unleashed into the world. Wherever this demonic power of his had come from, he would never stop using it to protect people from creatures like himself.

Pain flashed behind his eyes as he sensed something pierce both his physical and metaphysical cocoon. Its humming vitality was familiar, and welcome. _Yamato!_ Somewhere far off he could hear a certain red devil calling to him in a muffled yell.

“Time to wake up kid! You’re missing out on all the fun!” Dante…was trying to rescue him? Nero was almost convinced he was imagining it. People didn’t root for him, or cheer him on, or put their faith in him.

But…maybe these demons did.

A surging sensation passed through him, similar to awakening from a deep sleep in slow motion. The teen punched out with his Devil Bringer, through the void and through a casing of false flesh. His demonic senses steered his claws perfectly to wrap around the Yamato’s tsuka, brandishing her to slice himself out of his prison.

Nero fell with an undignified _oof_ as he hit the hard ground. Pushing onto his knees, he saw that the glow had returned to his Bringer – it was infused with soft purple, as was the length of Yamato’s blade. “It’s up to you from here kid!” echoed through the statue. “An opportunity to save the world doesn’t happen every day y’know! Savour it!”

“So he’s leaving it all to me?” he grumbled with a smile, getting to his feet.

_‘Make haste, Nero. It’s time for you to end this.’_

And end it he did. (Or _they_ did, he admittedly had help from Dante and Vergil). By the time he’d freed himself from the crumbling statue of the Saviour, Dante was waiting for him at the plaza outside the Grand Cathedral. He jogged up to him, returning his lopsided smile.

“I guess I should thank you.”

“But that’d be outta character,” Dante just had to point out. “Maybe you should just throw an insult my way instead.”

“Yeah, that sounds better…still I owe ya.”

“Ah, don’t sweat it. I had my reasons for helping.” _Huh? What reasons?_ Before he could ask, the demon hunter was waltzing past him and giving him a pat on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself.”

“You’re leaving?” He tried not to let the disappointment seep into his voice too heavily, but judging by the smirk that Dante threw over his shoulder he wasn’t successful.

“I gotta get back. More jobs to take, more cities to save – you know how it is.” _Can’t blame him for wanting to leave…Fortuna’s a huge fucking rubbly mess now._

“Right…Dante, w-wait. You forgot this.” Nero held the Yamato out to him, resting peacefully in her saya. Dante turned to regard the katana with a strange look on his face, the same one he’d worn when he first saw Nero with her at HQ.

“Keep it.”

“What?” _Is he being serious?_ “I thought this…meant a lot to you?”

“That’s the only kinda gift worth giving. I wanna entrust it to you, so I am.” The red devil spun on his heel and sauntered off again, leaving no room for argument. “Adios, kid!” Nero watched him until he vanished behind the rubble. Then he turned his attention back to Yamato.

“Can’t believe he really did that…”

_‘At least we can rest assured she won’t be used as a letter opener any time soon.’_ The teen threw back his head and laughed. He could practically see Dante doing just that in his mind’s eye. Yamato dematerialised and returned to his arm, which regained its normal blue glow.

“Hey Vergil? I wanna say thank you.”

_‘For anything in particular?’ How about for everything?_

“Just…a general thank you.”

_‘Hm. Well, you’re generally welcome.’_ Nero took a deep breath, watching a flock of doves fly over the ruin of Fortuna.

“Let’s go see if the house is still standing. I have to find Kyrie…” His mood plummeted. He’d have to break the news about Credo. _She better be safe or I’m about to bring Sanctus back and kick his ass all over again._ The young hybrid marched off, and halted abruptly when he noticed that he was more exposed than he was used to. “Damn – I lost my sling.”

_‘Does it matter? I’m sure plenty of civilians saw you running around without it today. And not to mention that they all owe you their lives, so they’d best start feeling accepting.’_

“I guess you’re right…but it’s gonna be weird going without it. And it’s probably a bad time to walk around town looking like a demon…”

_‘Nero.’_

“Alright, I’m going!”

Kyrie was waiting for him at the (fortunately intact) house. He may have (definitely) burst into tears when he saw her. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because she was safe, maybe it was because he had had an extremely emotional day, maybe he was just tired. Or maybe it was the way she searched over his shoulder for Credo.

Then they’d both cried, and she’d leapt out of her skin when she finally noticed his Devil Bringer, but she could hardly dwell on the fact that her adopted brother had sprouted a demon arm when she’d just learnt that her last living relative was dead.

Nero didn’t tell her that Credo had become a demon. He died trying to save Nero when he realised the truth of the cult they were indoctrinated in, and that was all that mattered.

Neither of them ate dinner, and Nero went to bed desperate to get to sleep. The whole day had been so overwhelming, he wanted to close his eyes and wake up tomorrow so that it’d be over. But being alone in his room gave him time to think, gave his mind a chance to run round and round in circles. He tossed and turned for hours, swallowing around the lump in his throat, unable to switch off.

Vergil hadn’t spoken a word since they’d got back to the house. Perhaps he was giving Nero some peace to grieve. _Hell, he’s probably asleep. He’s gotta be tired after Yamato summoned his spirit or whatever._ That little trick had come in very handy in the final showdown against Sanctus. Nero had yet to catch a glimpse of Vergil’s spectre though, he was always positioned directly behind him. In the heat of an intense battle wasn’t the time to be gawking, anyway.

Laying his Bringer beside his head on the pillow, Nero cautiously whispered to his devil,

“Are you awake?” There was no reply for a long moment, and the teen was about to give up when the equally quiet response came.

_‘Yes.’_ Nero drew the duvet further up his shoulders, bringing his glowing palm between his head and the pillow so he could nestle his face into it. _‘You’re having trouble sleeping.’_

“Mmh. I can’t stop thinking.” Nero twirled a lock of his snow-white hair around a talon. That had always made him sleepy when he was younger. “…Can I ask you something?”

_‘If you must.’_ He steeled himself to keep his voice steady.

“Have you ever…lost somebody?” Nero regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth. It was an extremely personal question, which Vergil did not excel at. As the silence drew on it made Nero squirm. Was that really how he was gonna end this dumpster fire of a day? By pissing him off? And they’d been getting on so well…at times. Of course he’d fuck it up, of _course_ –

_‘Yes. I…have.’ Oh._

“Oh…um, I’m sorry.”

_‘No, it was my own fault.’_ His own fault. Nero could relate to that. Vergil must have felt the scowl smushed into his Bringer through their shared sensation in the arm, because he quickly followed up with, _‘Credo’s death was not your doing, Nero. He was killed by a deranged fanatic.’_

“But-”

_‘The matter isn’t open for debate. He knew he was laying down his life, in the hope that you would live. The fact that you and your sister are here means that his sacrifice wasn’t in vain.’_ Credo had chosen to save him. Nero had always been a little shit to him. But he’d died for him anyway; and now Nero could never ever apologise, never tell him that he wanted to make him proud, even if he didn’t act like it. Now he was gone.

Clenching both his fists to try and level his swirling emotion, Nero sliced the skin on his face with his Bringer. He hissed and bolted upright, attempting to blot up the blood with the hem of his nightshirt before it could stain his ivory white bedsheets. As he was indelicately dabbing at his cheek he glanced down at the demonic, blood tipped arm resting in his lap.

He wondered if Vergil had cried for whatever he had lost. Can devils even cry? Was there a time where he would have been kept awake at night too, alone, obsessing and mourning and hating himself?

Nero didn’t like the thought of that.

“How was it your fault?” he ventured carefully. “...Whatever happened…maybe you’re wrong too…maybe it’s not your fault.” Vergil huffed a quiet laugh, and sighed.

_‘“Can I see another’s Grief,_

_And not seek for kind relief?”’_ he recited. _‘You’re a kind boy, Nero.’_ On the first floor of the house, the grandfather clock struck 1am. _‘You should lay back down and try to sleep. You need it.’_ The swift change of subject left no room for deliberation. Nero flopped back onto the pillow, wishing Vergil would have accepted his effort to comfort him too.


	6. The Yellow Pages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys! These comments and kudos!!! You're all so supportive, it gives me - dare I say - motivation!  
> (I do feel a little ungrateful that I'm not replying to each one tbh!)

Having his Devil Bringer noticed for the first time went about as well has Nero had expected.

It was just over a week since the whole Hellgate incident, and he’d finally plucked up the courage to accompany Kyrie outside and help with the clean-up effort. Before they’d left she’d eyed him and nervously asked whether he was going to cover his limb up – to which he’d said no. But, the further he ventured from the house, the more he began to regret his decision. And it didn’t help that the more anxious he got, the brighter the thing would shine.

At first the people they passed were few and far between, and all too focussed on their own tasks to even glance at them. Then they’d reached one of the many stalls set up to hand out food to the unfortunate citizens, and the crowd thickened. It wasn’t a large amount of people, just the ones from the surrounding neighbourhood, but it was enough. Kyrie had given Nero a funny look from under her cowl, most likely anticipating the same thing that he was. He didn’t blame her for not wanting to get caught up in it.

“Kyrie!” A girl of age with them, another member of the choir, came up beside them and pulled the redhead into a dainty hug. “I saved you a spot next to me at the stand! Come on, I’ll-” Her sentence was choked off by a quick gasp as she caught sight of Nero. More specifically, of his arm. Her gasp drew the interest of a few of the people closest to them as well, who all turned to see what the problem was.

Nero froze. Kyrie hung her head. “You – y-you’re-”

“ _Demon!”_ someone hissed, which very, very quickly got the attention of everyone in earshot. Panicked murmuring rippled through the flock around him. Nero lowered his eyes so that he didn’t have to see the frightened and hateful stares they levelled his way. Then, he sucked in a deep breath and squared his shoulders. Vergil was right; he’d saved this island. It wasn’t like they didn’t all call him a demon already…

Feeling absolutely none of the confidence he was displaying, Nero strode forward to the stall. People darted out of his way fearfully, creating a path to his destination. The few people manning it cowered as he approached, but still managed to glare at him.

Nero fished around in his pocket for the food voucher that had been posted that morning, presenting it by waving it in between his claws.

“I got a ticket.”

No one answered him for a long, tense minute.

“We only cater to _humans_ ,” the overseer manning the service spat. _Fucker._

“Yeah, well, it says it right here that ‘all residents of Fortuna are eligible for this benefit’. I’m a resident.” The overseer scoffed, and Nero continued before he could be interrupted. “I was also running all over this island that day, _fighting_ , to keep you people fucking safe. What were _you_ doing when it all hit the fan, huh? Were _you_ killing demons? Closing Hellgates? Putting your life on the line for a town that hates your guts for no damn reason? Or, were you cowering in a corner, shaking and praying and pissing yourself?” He slapped the voucher down, hard, causing one of the legs of the stand to splinter loudly. “Gimme my fucking rations.”

After putting the groceries away and slamming every cupboard, Nero grabbed Red Queen and booked it out of town to a little wood on the lower slopes of the Lamina range. There, he picked one undeserving tree to take the brunt of his fury, and hacked away at it. Bark and chunks of wood sprayed out with each slash, pelting his face and getting caught in his snowy hair. His grunts devolved into sharp, wrathful yelling. A tremendous _crack_ startled him out of his trance, and he leapt back as the rest of the trunk split and the tree toppled from the canopy. Branches snapped and boughs creaked as it crashed its way down, scaring off the few birds that hadn’t already vacated the area at the sound of his shouting.

_‘Are you looking to become a lumberjack, Nero?’_

“Don’t.” Nero stabbed Red Queen into the dirt, shambling over to the nearest trunk to lean against it and catch his breath. “You know, I always used to imagine the day I’d get found out. I-I used to think about it a lot. I’d imagine I was brave enough to show everyone my arm, then I’d fucking flip them off with it and tell them all to go fuck ‘emselves,” he puffed.

_‘I can certainly see the appeal.’_

“Be honest – how much did I embarrass myself?”

 _‘I thought you maintained your composure admirably, relative to your usual behaviour.’_ Nero wasn’t so sure that that was such a good thing. He was almost tempted to ask what his devil would have done in his stead, but he couldn’t imagine Vergil giving a shit what any Fortunian thought of him.

Nero settled at the base of the tree, kicking his long legs out. _I better stay here till dark. If I’m lucky Kyrie will be asleep when I get back._ He’d left his sister at the food stand when he’d stormed off. She was probably glad he didn’t acknowledge her. No one would turn against her after this though, he knew that much. Everyone loved Kyrie, she was a delightful little congregant.

He loved his sister too, but he envied her fiercely. She could walk around and have people smile at her on the street, simply fitting in and being effortless and completely welcome. When he was younger he used to believe staying at her side might change people’s minds about him…how wrong he’d been.

Nero rested his head back on the bark, closed his eyes, and let himself daydream. The sounds of the wood crept back tentatively from the scare of the felled tree; chirping crickets and whistling birds among the rustling leaves. _Welcome…what does that feel like?_ Unbidden, a vision of Dante rose behind his lids, giving him a mocking salute. _“…It’s gotta stay in the family…I had my reasons for helping…I wanna entrust it to you, so I am.”_ Nero had known him for less than 24 hours, and he’d still managed to leave such a big impression. A lot of that impression was him royally pissing him off, but that was beside the point.

Dante, a demon hunter, seeing Nero’s arm and immediately deciding he was an ally instead of an enemy. He couldn’t help but wonder if it was partly due to the fact they looked so similar… _“It’s gotta stay in the family.”_

“We should go find Dante,” he blurted out.

‘Excuse _me?’_

“I don’t mean run off right this second! I just meant, we should at least find out whereabouts on the mainland he is, y’know?”

_‘Because…?’_

“What if we need some help with another demon outbreak?” Nero pointed out. Vergil let out one of his most withering sighs, drawing it out so long that he started to remind Nero of a punctured beachball.

_‘How do you propose to go about searching? Catch the ferry and walk around until you find him?’_

“I can get Kyrie to ask the newsagent’s to import a phonebook from the mainland and look for his devil hunting business that way. His accent wasn’t that different, he can’t live too far from here.”

 _‘That’s...quite the idea. And drawn up very quickly…You’ve been thinking this over for a while, haven’t you.’_ Oops. Busted.

“Maybe.”

_‘And what do you plan on doing with his address? Write to him? Pay him a visit?’_

“Write?! No one writes to each other anymore, Vergil.”

 _‘Hmph, not with your handwriting perhaps.’_ Nero dug a talon into his blue palm.

“Jeez, you’re on form today,” he commented playfully, before he dropped his smile with a huff. “I don’t think I should just show up uninvited…what if he doesn’t even wanna see me?” Nero didn’t think he could stand it if he tipped up on Dante’s doorstep and the hunter looked down at him and scowled. ( _Could_ Dante scowl?). “You know what? I’m just gonna go for it. What’s the worst that could happen from knowing where he’s at? I don’t have to contact him at all.” The young hybrid leapt up to his feet, collected Red Queen, and trudged back down the foothills toward town.

///

One month. It took _one month_ for the phonebook to get shipped to Fortuna. Every day since he’d asked Kyrie to order it for him he’d ask her whether it was at the shop yet, and she’d respond with a little smile and a shake of her head.

Things predictably got worse with the townspeople as news of his confirmed demonic blood got spread throughout the community. Though no one was outright physically aggressive (no one wanted to get close enough), they didn’t hesitate to mutter all sorts of names at him as he passed them on the street. The incident that stung the most came when he went to enter the mechanics’ – he bought the fuel and parts for Red Queen from them – and there was a new sign posted on the door. NO DEMONS, it read, under a drawing of a clawed arm with a red cross through it.

Well. _That_ message was loud and clear.

At least the yellow pages was something he could look forward to. Needless to say, he was glad when they eventually arrived.

“Nero,” Kyrie’s clear voice rang through the house, “I’m back! I’ve got something for you!” Nero abandoned his game console and practically flung himself down the stairs, finding his sister in the kitchen. The phonebook was waiting on the counter while she was sorting the fridge.

“Yes! Finally!” He scooped it up in his right hand and enveloped his sister in his left. “Thanks Kyrie!” She giggled and elbowed him away before he could spill the punnet of strawberries she was handling.

“It’s no problem, I’m glad to see you so happy.” His ostracization hadn’t been lost on her – she heard the insults, and most of the reopening business she entered now had a sign like the merchants’ one on the door. Nero had to stop helping her buy groceries for that reason. After losing their brother it was the last thing he needed; and definitely the last thing he deserved. “Who did you say you were looking up again?”

“His name’s Dante, he helped rescue everyone that day. I just think we should send him some thanks, y’know? No one knows how much they owe him.” He’d managed to skirt around the fact that he was the same guy who blew His Holiness’ brains out when he’d first brought it up.

“That’s a very thoughtful thing to do,” she remarks sagely. Nero didn’t waste any time getting to his search. As he turned to the index, a sudden worry hit him that something as niche as devil hunting might not even be advertised in the pages, but it was soon proved to be unfounded. He breathed out a little _ah-ha_ and flipped to the correct place.

There were more businesses than he expected. And none of them said Dante’s name. Nero quickly slipped out of the kitchen to confer with Vergil.

“Which one do you think is him?”

 _‘It’s impossible to say,_ all _of these have tacky names.’_

“Hrm…Look, ‘J.D. Morrison Broker Agency’, maybe we should call that. If Dante’s really as good as you say they have to have heard of him, right?” The teen gave himself a mental pat on the back for his lateral thinking, flopping into the telephone chair in the hall and laying the book down on the table. Now all he had to do was make a phone call…which he’d only done a number of times in his entire life, and all of them had been from the public phone near the training grounds to Kyrie to say he’d be home late.

“Oh, are you calling him?” Kyrie poked her head out of the kitchen. “Here, the clerk said to dial this extension if you want to make calls to the mainland.” She fished a slip of paper out of her sleeve and handed it over. “I’ll go do some gardening, give you some privacy.”

“Thanks Kyrie.” Nero eyed the landline apprehensively. He lifted the receiver, the plastic creaking in his grip. _Here goes nothing…_

When the ringback tone started his hand began to sweat. _Fuck what am I doing what am I gonna say I should hang up-_

“Hello, you’ve reached Morrison’s extermination broker agency, how can I help?” a musical female voice relayed to him. _Fuck, why does she talk so fast?_

“Um – yeah – I’m,” Nero cleared his throat gingerly, “I’m looking for Dante?”

“We tailor the best business at the best price to you depending on the scale of your infestation. Can I take the details of your case? Is it an emergency?”

“No, it’s – I don’t have a problem, I just wanna know where he-”

“We can’t give out the information of our affiliated services, sir. Individual services can be contacted separately if you already have their details.”

“W-what about just his number?”

“I’m afraid we can’t do that due to the nature of the-” Nero smacked the receiver back into the cradle.

_‘Very delicately handled, Nero.’_

“I panicked!” He scrubbed his human hand through his hair and growled. “Now I’m gonna have to call all these damn numbers till I find him. _Ugh!_...Welp, might as well start from the top.” The receiver was lifted once again. This time his hands were sweating before the ringback tone began.

“Beast Hunters,” a man rasped from the other line.

“Yeah, hi – um…is Dante there?” A beat. Then,

“Is this some kinda joke? Did he put you up to this? Tell him he can go get _fu-_ ” Back into the cradle.

“Wrong number.” Nero moved down the list and dialled again. _This is taking years off my life, I swear._

“Demon Demolition, what’s your emergency?” This time the person answering was a woman, voice tinged with boredom and the husk of cigarettes.

“Hello. Uh. D-does Dante work there?”

“Eh? No, sorry.”

“ _Okaybye_.” Nero hung up quickly and slumped back in his chair with a groan. “Why’s this so hard?”

_‘Giving up already?’_

“What do you mean _‘already’?_ Didn’t you just hear me make myself sound like a complete fucking idiot?” The telephone chair creaked as he doubled over to hide his face in his hands with another long-suffering moan. When he spoke, his words were muffled in his palms. “Okay. Okay. _One_ more. Then I’ll leave the rest till tomorrow or something.” He scanned down the list for the next contact – _Devil May Cry_.

There wasn’t any time to let his nerves build; the ringback tone cut off after just a few seconds.

“Nero?” a blessedly familiar voice asked immediately.

“I- How did you know it was me?!” Dante’s laugh was slightly static-y, but the warmth still came through the line.

“Got a call from a friend saying some weirdo was phoning around asking after me.”

“Yeah, well, how else was I supposed to – wait, _weirdo?” Nice to know I made a good impression...At least I finally got his number._ He was beyond glad to hear the demon’s laughter down the phone.

“You’ve reached the right place, Devil May Cry! So, what’s up kid? Your lil’ island isn’t in trouble again _already_ , is it?”

“No, it’s -” After all that hassle and he didn’t even know what he was going to say? Might as well give the same excuse he told Vergil. “I…just thought I should know your number in case of another emergency.”

“Good thinkin’. Sorry I didn’t give you it before I left.”

“That’s ok.” A long, very awkward beat of silence passed.

“You not got anything else to say? Aren’t you at least gonna tell me how you’re doing?”

“Oh! Uh, good, I guess.”

“You guess.” Another pause. “You’re not much of a talker over the phone, huh?”

“I don’t really use phones…”

“No kidding!" _That bad?_ Nero cringed. “Tell ya what, how about you come here and see me in person? I’m sure all the brass will come flooding right back.”

“R-really?”

“Yeah, why not? I’ll bet you want a break from sweeping up all that debris too.”

“Um, yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.” Whatever he’d hoped to come out of calling Dante, this was so much more than he’d been actually expecting. Dante wanted him to come to the mainland, he invited him pretty much straight away. The doubts he’d been harbouring about overestimating the quality of their unorthodox friendship were effectively dashed.

“Great! Call me whenever you get hold of a ticket, I’ll meet you at the other side – can’t really picture you taking the train to Red Grave, heheh.”

“Alright!” Nero was beaming now, fidgeting in his chair excitedly. “Yeah! Cool! I’ll call you.”

“Speak to you then, kid. Seeya!”

“Bye!” The line went dead and the teen shot up immediately, heading for the front door. “Let’s go to the harbour right now – wait, Kyrie-” Nero spun 180 and headed toward the garden, knocking the yellow pages from the telephone chair in his haste.

 _‘Slow down, Nero,’_ Vergil chuckled, _‘Dante will still be there in the next five seconds.’_ The hybrid went from a sprint to a barely restrained power-walk.

Through the bright patio doors at the rear of the kitchen he spotted his sister kneeling by the flowerbed, pulling up weeds. Nero paused with his hand on the handle, watching her work. _Will she be upset that I’m leaving? What if she doesn’t want me to go?_

Gently he opened the door, stepping into the bright sunshine. He’d spent so much time playing with her in this garden as a child, running around in the sun. Now it was just the two of them. And he was going to ask her if he could leave her all alone.

“…Kyrie?” She straightened up and shaded her eyes so she could get a good look at him.

“How did the call go?”

“Good. I found his number.”

“That’s good.”

“Yup. Actually…he asked me if I wanted to go visit.” Kyrie’s eyes widened, and she broke out into a warm smile.

“He did? Oh Nero, that’s great news!” She stood from the kneeling pad so that she could face him properly. Her tone was so sincere, Nero was blindsided by the positive reaction. “Would that be something you’d want to do?”

“I don’t wanna leave you here.”

“Don’t be silly! Wherever I go in Fortuna you know I’ll never be alone.” Kyrie stripped off her gardening gloves and stepped forward to take his hand in both of hers (the human one; as supportive as she was his Bringer still made her squeamish). “I’d hate to think that the only reason you wouldn’t go was because of me. You could have finally found a crowd that will treat you just as kindly as you deserve.” Nero was struck speechless, eventually mirroring her soft smile.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know. But I am serious, I don’t want you to ever miss out on something for my behalf.” They gave each other a squeeze, and Kyrie went back to her weeding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't judge me for my terrible devil hunting business names :/ I needed something quick and alphabetical!


	7. The Fortune Ferry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments, they really really make my day! <3
> 
> We're steadily catching up to where I've written up to, I might stagger the updates a bit more but I don't think there will be much time between them :)

The air was still but unseasonably crisp on the morning of his departure. His ferry ticket had been purchased just hours after his conversation with Dante, but he’d waited till the next day to call again, not wanting to seem too eager. The red devil hadn’t specified how long he was expecting him to stay, but his proud declaration of having tidied the spare room told Nero that it was likely to be an overnight visit.

Kyrie insisted on ironing everything before he packed it (but he drew the line at her attempt to iron his underwear), and even packed him some lunch. She mothered him so much he often forgot that she was the younger of the two.

Thankfully Kyrie was nothing but smiles as they said goodbye at the harbour, or else he wouldn’t have been able to leave her. She tried to fluff his scarf up around his ears to hide them from the pinching cold as he unsuccessfully shook her off.

“Don’t forget to eat your lunch. I’ve put some pills in the little bag pocket with your MP3 in case you get seasick. Your money is in the opposite one. Could you call me once you get there so I know you’re okay? And _don’t_ forget your please and thank-yous to Dante!”

“Pills, food, money, and pleases. Got it.”

“Good. You better go before they leave you here!” she gave him a gentle push toward the gangplank. He hesitated for a split second before he backed away, as if he really were considering staying after all.

“I’ll call you every night Kyrie, I promise! Don’t stay out here to wave me off though or you’ll freeze.”

“ _I’ll_ freeze? Your nose has gone pink! Go on Nero, it’ll be warmer inside.”

“Be back before you know it!”

“Take care!” With difficulty despite his excitement, he turned away from his sister and trotted up the ramp. The ticket was already at hand to show to the staff member posted at the door, who gave it a cursory glance and nodded him in. The man was a mainlander, like the rest of the crew, so he didn’t glare or gawk at Nero – besides from the belated double-take at his Devil Bringer.

Passengers to or from Fortuna were rare; the ferry’s main purpose was to import (and infrequently, export) goods for the island. The ferry was small as cargo ships went, less than 200 foot in length. Passenger areas consisted of an upper deck and a lower, both crammed like an afterthought at the back of the vessel while the cargo was loaded on deck at the bow via a crane. _The Fortune_ , as the ship was aptly named, had a passenger capacity of 220. That morning Nero was the only commuter there.

Kyrie was correct, it was a lot warmer inside the ferry. With the run of the whole place, Nero chose a seat by a window directly underneath an air heater.

“Brrr! Thought it was supposed to be summer!”

_‘Indeed. While the temperature hardly affects your demonic arm, even I can feel the chill today.’_

“How’s this?” Nero raised his Bringer up to the heater.

 _‘My right hand will be as warm as my left in no time.’_ Shuddering through the ship, three strident blares of the foghorn declared their departure. Nero craned his neck to see the water out the window.

“Here we go…” Little waves lapped at the hull as the vessel reversed from the harbour. A brave gull paddled by, bobbing on the forming wake. “I’ve never left Fortuna before.” He’d been born there, raised in his early years in the orphanage and the rest of his childhood with Kyrie and her family. Nothing but the stretch of the ocean was visible from Fortuna; he’d never even physically seen another place before.

_‘You’ll find the cities of the mainland are a world apart from what you’re used to.’_

“You said you’ve been here before, right? This world I mean, the human world.”

_‘Yes.’_

“How long ago was it? Like, was everyone in horses and carts and stuff?” Vergil huffed a quiet laugh at that.

_‘I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you; cars were very much in use.’_

“Oh. Whereabouts did you go? Ever been to where we’re headed?” A rustling sounded just beneath the waves and the rumble of the engine, as if someone were creasing fabric by his ears. “Was that you moving again?” The first time he’d realised that he could hear his demon’s surroundings as well as Vergil could his was when the snake had infiltrated his coat.

_‘Hm.’_

“I gotta ask, what the hell do you do all day? ‘Cause you make like no noise at all!” To his left a crewmember opened the door leading to the public toilets toting a mop, halting when they saw a boy sitting alone holding his monstrous limb up against the heater. They tore their eyes away just as quick, in what he assumed was a bid to be somewhat polite and not stare, giving Nero a small nod in greeting and carrying on their way. _That was probably the most casual reaction my arm’s ever got. Wait, Saviour, did they hear me talking to myself?_

 _‘It has been months since I have risen from this spot,’_ Vergil mumbled when the crewmember had vanished through another door.

“What? Why?”

_‘I have to conserve my energy. I am still healing from a grievous wound…’_

“You’re hurt?” Nero lowered his Bringer so that he could hold his other hand in it to warm it up as well. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

_‘It was never relevant.’_

“Maybe I could’ve done something though – do you need more of that demon blood?”

 _‘There’s nothing you can do to help with this, Nero. I must rely on my own power, and hope it is enough to pull through.’_ Something about his wording made Nero’s heart skip a beat _. Pull through? As in…he could be dying?_

“And it’s taking _months_ to heal?”

_‘I’ve had this wound for many years now.’_

“What?! Why’s it taking so long, don’t demons heal pretty fast?”

 _‘It’s more than just the physical wound. There’s a…corruption, poisoning my blood and leeching my power. I cannot heal fast enough to purge the sickness, or mend the wound.’_ Nero sat back in his chair, watching the sea flow by. Now out in open water the ship was rocking, filling the window with the waves one moment and replacing it with sky in the next. _‘I can see you pouting in your reflection,’_ Vergil admonished.

“You just told me you’re dying; do you want me to be all smiles?”

 _‘Nothing has changed in my situation since we’ve been acquainted. Don’t let this spoil your mood. This is a big day for you, I’d like for you to be excited again.’ Yeah, a big day of finding out_ another _person in my life is gonna leave it_. Nero looked ahead down at his shoes so Vergil couldn’t see his expression. His devil sighed. _‘If I’d known the truth would upset you…’_

“What, you think I don’t give a shit?”

 _‘No, only that I did not consider how my words would affect you before I spoke. Your life has been turbulent enough recently, and I apologise.’_ That deflated Nero’s rising anger completely. If he was still in the same health (or lack of) as when they first joined together, then maybe he should put this worry aside…for the time being. Also - did Vergil just _apologise?_

“That’s okay…gimme five more minutes and I’ll be alright again.”

_‘I should hope so. “The busy bee has no time for sorrow”, after all.’_

The day had heated up by the time Nero poked his head on the top deck. Wind threw his pearly hair around as he fought the rocking of the vessel to reach the railing. Since the passenger areas were at the back, he had to crane his neck over the barrier to see the direction they were headed.

“Do you think that’s it there?” he queried over the roaring surf. There was a faint, blurry shadow sat spanning the horizon.

_‘It appears so.’_

“Alright!” _My first look at somewhere other than Fortuna._ His troubled mood had dissipated, and he was suitably spirited for his foreign adventure once more. He peeled himself away from the railing and got comfortable on a nearby row of benches, opening his backpack to find his packed lunch. They’d been on the water for just over an hour, and the mini emotional rollercoaster he’d been living in since he’d woken up that morning was hungry work.

A gull landed on deck as he was chewing through his sandwich and pattered over. Nero glanced from it to the sign on the railing that read ‘Do NOT feed the seagulls’ and back again. “Go’way,” he told it through a mouthful of food. It stepped closer. The teen kicked his foot out to spook it. Even without the sign he was _not_ sharing Kyrie’s lunch.

 _‘There’s something I must ask of you before we reach our destination,’_ his demon piped up.

“Sure, what is it?” The seagull redoubled its efforts and Nero kept waving his foot around to deter it.

 _‘I don’t want Dante to know about me. Not a thing. Do_ not _let him know you hear my voice, or even mention my name. I fear he may try and find a way to separate us if he knew.’_

“Makes sense, he _is_ a devil hunter. Don’t worry, our secret’s been safe with me from the beginning; it’s hard to tell people you hear voices. Plus, I kinda like that it’s just the two of us.”

_‘Good. Let us keep it that way. As an experienced hunter and traveller of Hell, I believe he may also recognise my name…you understand why it’s so important not to let it slip?’_

“‘Course. You famous down there, then?”

_‘Not at all, but I believe we should err on the side of caution nonetheless.’_

“My lips are sealed.”

Nero polished off the rest of his meal and peered over the barrier again. “Woah, we’re nearly there!” The distant shadow had morphed into land, grey impressions of buildings behind a port directly ahead. “Even from here the city looks huge.” He stayed at the railing for the rest of the approach, pointing out various things like the “blockiness” of the buildings compared to that of his home, and the sheer size of some of the other freighters at dock. As the ship slowed down for a gentle landing, his heart was hammering – whether through nerves or anticipation, he couldn’t tell. It was most likely a mix of both.

Quickly double-checking the contents of his bag, he marched up to the exit and waited to be let out. After the seventh minute of pacing in a tight circle and trying to peer out of the porthole to see what was taking so long, he plonked himself down on a chair with a grumble.

When the door opened he was up like a shot.

“We’re here sir. Please don’t run down the ramp; there are pamphlets at the ticket stand if you need to find the train station and all that.”

“Thanks!” Nero shouldered his backpack and trotted down from the ship, pausing at the bottom of the ramp to take in his surroundings. With the arrival of _The Fortune_ , the port was alive with the sounds of crew calling back and forth, and the loud banging of cargo as it was shifted. Each vessel was docked alongside its own wide concrete jetty. The young hybrid took his first careful steps on alien soil, scanning left and right for the hunter. _Is Dante here already? I hope he didn’t forget._

He spotted a carpark by the road ahead, deciding it should be the first place to check. _Damn, I’ve never seen so many cars!_ It was mostly full, the morning sun shining off of dozens of windscreens and bonnets. _But which one’s his?_ Nero craned his neck to see if he could spot a head of white hair stand out from above the vehicles. A door opened a few rows down and he perked up; a woman climbed out and locked her car, strutting off to work at the docks. _Definitely not Dante. He must be late or something…I’ll stand here and wait._

Nero shifted from foot to foot, letting his attention wander inland. Being by the sea the air was strong with the scent of salt, but with his enhanced senses he could pick up much more wafting over. The ozone smell of petrol on the roads, the faint sweetness of pastries, the musty coat of a dog that padded alongside their owner. He’d never seen a dog in the flesh before – on Fortuna pets were frowned upon; something about keeping animals for amusement being akin to the Demon King’s desire to enslave humans. _What a crock…That dog looks happy to me._

The buildings that rose before him were around the same size as he was used to, but beyond them he could see high-rises that were even taller than the (now obliterated) obelisk monument at the centre of Fortuna. Between them the streets were about twice as wide as the thoroughfares of his island home. And the people…there were so many, they seemed to struggle for space along the pavements. Of course, none of them were wearing cowls. Nero wasn’t wholly ignorant of fashion outside of his town, he’d seen a few magazines published on the mainland throughout his life and liked to try and copy it himself, but to see such different styles and colours and fabrics on every single passer-by was bizarre.

He was suddenly hyperaware that he was stood alone on the edge of a large, loud, and completely unfamiliar city.

Curled around the strap of his pack, his Devil Bringer began to gather prickles of static that steadily got hotter. Nero’s already high alert got ramped up to 1000 – he didn’t bring any of his weapons.

“Nero! Hey!” the teenager whipped around to see none other than Dante sauntering toward him, the culprit for his flaring extra sense. He was wearing the same red coat and leather motorbike chaps as when Nero had first met him, over a pair of dark jeans and a tight black shirt.

“Dante!” Nero practically skipped up to meet him halfway.

“Sorry, I could smell the bakery from the car. You like cookies?” The hunter threw him a paper bag. A peek inside revealed a big chocolate chip cookie that was still warm from the oven.

“Thanks!”

“C’mon let’s scoot, we still got a drive ahead of us.” Dante led him through the maze of cars to a boxy silver coupe, opening the boot for Nero’s backpack. Nero bundled himself in the passenger seat. It was set so far forward that his knees were nearly at his chest. The driver’s seat was cranked right back, so Dante’s own long legs could fit somewhat comfortably. “You alright?” the man chuckled as he settled in.

“Yup.”

“Pull the lever under the seat, you better move back before you lose all feeling in your feet, kid.” Nero fumbled around and adjusted to a more suitable position. As Dante started the engine he took stock of the interior. There was an air freshener in the shape of a kitten hanging from the rear-view, and a bobblehead of a swaying flower wearing sunglasses bluetac’ed to the dash.

“This…isn’t what I was expecting from your car.” Dante barked a quick laugh as he reversed out of his spot.

“It’s not my car, I borrowed it from a friend. Didn’t think you’d wanna ride shotgun on my motorbike all the way to Red Grave.” They pulled out onto the main road and the gears grinded loudly. “Oops,” the hunter mumbled as he wrestled with the clutch. “Promise I know how to drive, I’m just a lil’ rusty.”

“As long as we don’t crash.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.”


	8. The Demon's Lair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise in advance for the amount of times I used the phrase 'kick ass' in this chapter.

If there was one thing Nero could take away from his experience of carpooling with the demon hunter, it was that Dante spent an unnerving amount of time not looking at the road. At first he didn’t notice, as he was too busy watching their surroundings go by out the window; but when he turned back Dante was doing the same. Then came the nerve-wracking moment of Dante switching out various cassettes for the stereo, despite Nero's insistence that he should do it, choosing to steer with his knee as he seemed to focus completely on the task in his hands. In the end he didn’t like any of his friend’s musical choices anyway, and opted for the radio instead.

The rolling countryside flowed by them, punctuated here and there by woodland and little villages nestled between the hills. Cows and sheep dotted the fields beside the road, unperturbed by the passing cars. Signage for Red Grave became more and more frequent, the miles until they reached their destination quickly counting down.

All in all, the drive took around the same time as the ferry journey: roughly an hour and a half. Red Grave encompassed them in streets of tall terraced houses, soon morphing into architecture that wasn’t unlike that of Fortuna. Grand limestone buildings with big windows and carved lintels flanked the roads. Nero thought it looked like a big, busy, futuristic vision of his island.

Dante drove them away from the city centre and into a district dressed in dormant neon lights. There were much less people wandering the pavements here.

“I gotta warn you not to expect much,” Dante advised when he noticed Nero avidly absorbing the passing setting. “My place is in a…not-so-reputable part of town. Cheaper rent.”

“I don’t care about that.” Nero wouldn’t’ve minded if he lived in a shed; he was out of Fortuna, finally experiencing the real world.

The brown-brick building they pulled up to didn’t look so bad from the outside, in the teen’s opinion. It was an old structure, the ornate feel of the dark wooden double doors and paned arched windows attested to that. Above the doors was a cursive neon sign advertising Dante’s business – Devil May Cry.

“Here we are, home sweet home.” Nero gave an appreciative little hum. The two clambered out of the car in tandem, and Dante popped the boot to get the backpack and hand it over. “Should be open, go on in.”

 _‘Prepare for a mess,’_ Vergil quipped as Nero reached the threshold. He hated that he couldn’t respond. The door creaked open, and the snowy-haired boy was able to walk inside and take the space in for the first time.

Much like the car, though that turned out not to actually belong to Dante, the interior wasn’t what he’d been expecting of the man’s taste. Yet he thought it strangely fit his eccentric style. _Vintage_ was the first word to come to mind when he saw the furniture - at the back of the room was a large antique desk with a rotary phone and chair, and two wide chesterfields (a brown one to the right of the desk, tucked in the corner between a fridge and a closed door, and a green one at the foot of the stairs). Gilded, shade-less brass floor lamps sat in dark corners of the spacious area. The stair bannister was beautifully crafted with swirling wrought iron and copper, rising up to a balcony that led to the first floor.

What caught Nero’s interest the most was the case of weapons on the wall behind the desk. He sidled up to it, inspecting the handguns and knives set into a red velvet cut-out under the glass pane. “Woah,” Dante exclaimed as he trailed in after him, “this place is spotless!”

“Took long enough!” someone answered, making Nero jump. A small woman emerged from around the corner, hefting a binbag over her shoulder. She had short, choppy black hair and was dressed in shorts and a white button-up. “I’m expecting an hourly rate for this, Dante.”

“I already said I owed ya big-time, didn’t I?”

“And when do you plan on paying me back big-time?” She noticed Nero standing awkwardly by the massive speakers under the stairs and gave him a friendly smile. “You must be Nero!”

“Y-yeah.”

“I’m Lady. Nice to meet you finally, I heard you saved the day on Dante’s big Fortuna job.” _Is that really what Dante said?_ Nero managed a shy smile back at her.

“It was nothing.”

“‘Nothing’, eh? Well, if it was that easy maybe you’re cut out for demon hunting.”

“Quit trying to poach him,” Dante shooed her away as he passed to flop onto the chesterfield. Lady poked her tongue out at him and left to dispose of the binbag. “Make yourself at home kid, seriously. If you wanna ditch your bag your room’s upstairs, last one on the right.”

“Thanks.” Nero made his way up the stairs, eyeing the various knife and bullet wounds in the bare plaster walls. Would ‘hectic’ be the right word to describe how he pictured the hunter’s life, or just ‘exciting’?

The upstairs floors were all unpolished hardwood, the hall past the balcony door plain aside from the window studded at the end of it. There were four other doors, two on each side. Nero crept over to the spare room, opening it carefully. It was slightly smaller than his bedroom in Fortuna, but not tiny. There was a freshly made single bed with a metal frame centre of the left wall, a bedside table, a chest of drawers, and a marquetry vanity inside. _Dante must be killer at antique sales._

Nero unslung his pack, setting it down by the bedside table. He felt a strange disjointedness at being in someone else’s house; he didn’t want to touch anything or impose himself. “What do you think?” he whispered into the silence. Vergil was the only familiar thing he could grasp at, he wanted to hear his voice.

_‘It’s serviceable.’_

“I like it,” Nero realised, crossing to the far wall to peek out of the window. The view was only of the next building across’ wall, but it was big enough to let in plenty of sunlight; Devil May Cry’s ceilings were huge. _Better not disappear too long_ , he thought, letting himself back out of the room. As he neared the balcony he could hear Lady and Dante talking. Eavesdropping hadn’t even crossed his mind, until he heard his name peppered into the conversation and drew up short. There was no harm in seeing what they had to say about him, was there? He tiptoed to the ajar balcony door to listen.

“…seems pretty quiet. Didn’t you say he was a little punk?”

“Maybe he’s feelin’ shy – probably never been out of that weird-ass town.”

“Aw. If he’s anything like you I’m sure he’ll get over it quick.”

“By the way, what happened to all my posters? I said clean the place, not strip it bare!”

“Posters?! I think you mean centrefolds. Well, I did what any sane person would do and shredded them.”

“ _You_ -”

“I’m not letting you keep porn on the walls when you’re looking after a kid, Dante.”

“That’s not true, they had clothes on!”

Nero announced his presence as loudly as he could, needlessly twisting the doorknob and stepping deliberately into the room. Dante was sat as he’d left him, now cradling a bottled beverage, and Lady was leaning on the desk. She craned her head back to watch him descend the stairs and announced,

“I’d better leave you boys to it. I’ll take my car back too, the longer I leave it with you the more likely it is to get totalled.”

“Do not wanna foot _that_ bill.”

“Exactly. It was nice to meet you Nero.”

“Uh, you too,” the teenager fumbled. It’s not that he’d never heard the phrase before, he’d just never had to respond to it himself. Lady collected her keys and left with a wave over her shoulder.

Nero found himself at a loss for where to place himself. He couldn’t sit on the other chesterfield on the other side of the room to hold a conversation, but he didn’t wanna try and squeeze next to Dante while he was taking up practically the entire sofa. In the end he settled for leaning his hip on the desk like Lady had.

“So, I see you finally got rid of that sling.” The young hybrid furrowed his brows before he caught on to what the hunter meant.

“My arm…yeah. I can cover it up if you think it’ll be a problem.”

“Problem?” Dante’s ever-present smile quirked down for a split second. “No. Keep it out, kid.”

“You don’t think it’ll freak people out?”

“Then that’s on them. Not you.” The hunter clapped his hands and sprung to his feet, the snap of his gloves coming together like a whipcrack. “Why don’t we put that arm to good use? Lady sorta ruined the surprise earlier, but I was gonna ask if you wanted to tag along on my next job.”

“Go demon hunting?”

“Yeah, why not? It’ll give you a chance to see the city too. You did a good job kickin’ ass that day, I wanna see how you do on this case.”

“Sounds like fun.” Nero gave the first easy smirk since he’d arrived. “ _But_ , I didn’t bring my weapons.”

“You got Yamato with you.” … _How does he know? Can he sense it?_

“Yeah, but I can’t use it for that long. It gets kinda tiring.” Dante clicked his tongue, rubbing his chin in an exaggerated show of thought.

“I reckon you’re just not used to it. Think of it like a muscle you gotta build up or something. The more you use her the easier it’ll get. You should get to the point where you’re able to carry her around 24/7, no problem.”

“Then this job should gimme some practice.” He was in need of it, he hadn’t seen a demon since the Hellgate incident. “What should I use in the meantime?”

“Leave that to me. C’mon.”

Dante led the way to the back of the office space, past a drinks bar and through another door at the end. There were two more doors along the left wall, and the hunter flung open the last one and stomped heavily down a flight of stone steps into a basement. Nero peered down from the top. It was dark even with the glow of the weak bulb, and cold air seeped up into the hallway. Whatever was down there, he could feel it, setting his hair on end.

That wasn’t nearly enough to deter the audacious boy. He followed after, eyes quickly adjusting to the low light. The space was small and crowded with all sorts of miscellaneous things one would expect of a basement – there was a disassembled drumkit pushed into one corner, pieces of vintage furniture in various states of disrepair, pool cues propped up against a stack of boxes.

Dante was waiting by the far wall, next to the most gothic door Nero ever seen. It was made of a slab of pitch-black stone, a gruesome demonic face with ram horns and a snarling mouth carved into the façade, banded with thick, polished silver metal.

“Like my safe?” Dante indicated to the door with a dull rap of his knuckles.

“Very…” Nero struggled to find the right word, “demon-y.”

“It was a pain in the ass to install, I’ll tell you that much,” the elder chuckled, stripping one of his gloves off. Before Nero could ask what he was doing, Dante had slashed open his palm on one of the carving’s wicked teeth, letting the blood drip into its waiting mouth. Vergil gave a thoughtful hum.

 _‘It’s a maleporta,’_ he revealed. _‘He couldn’t have asked for a better lock. No amount of interference will be able to open this entrance, it will only respond to his blood.’_

The seal on the doorway released with a hiss, followed by a deep scraping as the slab swung inward to allow them entrance.

“Pretty neat, huh?”

“This basement’s creepy as Hell,” Nero remarked, earning a laugh from the other.

“Wait here, I’ll get ya something.” Dante strolled in, immediately enveloped by a darkness that was barely held at bay by sconces of thick, purple candles. No sound made it past the threshold. The young hybrid occupied himself by treading on the pedal of the bass drum nearby, tapping out an uneven rhythm. Since he couldn’t hear his approach, Nero started when Dante breached the doorway and called out, “How ‘bout this?” He held out a plain shotgun and gave it a wiggle. “Not a Devil Arm, but I figured you wanna save all your energy for the Yamato.”

“I’ll take it.” The shotgun was flung at him and he caught it by the wooden grip. It was much heavier than Blue Rose, and off balance, but Nero was nothing if not adaptable.

“Let’s go kick some ass!”

The job was walking distance away, in a residential neighbourhood. The area had been plagued by strange, loud noises at night, something going through all of their bins, and one girl reported that a ‘monster’ had tried to attack her and her dog. Some of the neighbours had pooled together some money to get a hunter on the case after animal control turned up a whole lot of nothing.

When he and Dante arrived at the affected alleyways, the more experienced hunter hung back. Nero looked over his shoulder in a silent question after finding himself taking the lead.

“Why don’t you take it from here? Look around, try and find its trail.”

“Fine by me.” Demons were pretty easy to find on Fortuna. He ambled between the border of high garden walls, scanning around. Other than the numerous upturned wheelie-bins there wasn’t much to see, and none of the tell-tale signs of demon activity that he was used to – scratch marks, scorch marks, a rancid smell (aside from the open bins).

Dante was a heavy presence behind him, examining Nero as he floundered to identify a single clue. _Fuck, if I seriously don’t find anything in front of Dante…_ He was _not_ going to survive embarrassing himself on his first job. As the fruitless search drew on and on and on, the teen started to wish that something would ambush them just to take the attention off him. Luckily for Nero, he had someone watching his back – and his surroundings.

_‘Look at the mess on the floor, Nero. Everything has been rummaged through, but only carcass bones have been scattered around.’_

“Bones,” he blurted, which earnt him a raised brow from Dante. “Uh, the bones have been pulled right out. Something’s been eating them.”

“Like a fox?” _Hm. Yeah._

“You think this is a false alarm?”

“Do you?” _Fuck!_ Nero couldn’t tell if Dante was smirking because he _did_ think it was a false alarm, or if he was just testing him.

_‘Note how every single bin has been uniformly knocked over and its contents emptied. Does that strike you as the work of a hungry beast?’_

“I think…that it’s kinda weird how every bin has been pushed over. Like it’s been done on purpose.” As glad as he was for Vergil’s help at that moment, he did feel like a cheat for just repeating his observations. Nero tried his hand at connecting the dots himself. He recalled Vergil advising him that his senses were his greatest asset in a hunt. _What can I sense?_ “Maybe…it’s trying to cover its smell? It stinks here.” Dante gave a shallow nod, not letting on to his own opinion on the matter.

“Anything else?”

“I-” A sudden flare of heat and light from his right arm cut him short, the limb already set at a simmer in Dante’s proximity. Nero twisted to face the enemy smoothly, drawing the shotgun concealed by his coattail, missing the black shape that bypassed him completely and launched itself straight at the man in red. The pained yelp behind him let him know that he was pointing in the wrong direction, and he swivelled around in time to see the devil fly away from Dante’s solid kick.

“Looks like you can stop the sleuthing, kid! They’ve come out to play.” Bins along the alley rattled as more demons spilled out. There were all the same species; low, slinky bodies that loped on four bony legs, wet and slimy grey skin like a corpse. Their muzzles were eyeless, and split vertically into a wide mouth armed with jagged teeth.

None of them bothered to assess the pair before diving straight in. Nero dodged the first one, and blew a hole into the flank of another. It’s cry was a rasping cough of a bark. He fired again, hitting it’s malformed skull and felling it. _This gun ain’t half bad!_ Two tried to jump him at once, and he walloped one with the butt of the shotgun and grabbed the second in his Bringer and slammed it into the cobbles. A third managed to get on his back, and he blasted it off with the gun. Nero spared a glance to see how Dante was doing, only to see that he wasn’t fighting back at all. His sword wasn’t even drawn. Every time one of the creatures tried to attack, he would just jump or slide or hop out of the way.

“Dante! What are you doing?!”

“It’d be no fun if _I_ killed em’ all – I thought you wanted to give Yamato a whirl?” _He's really gonna sit it out for that?_

 _‘Try and summon her, Nero,’_ Vergil prompted. The young hybrid separated from the action for a second to turn his concentration inwards. He pinpointed the Yamato’s energy interlacing with his own and pulled, the ancient blade sliding free readily and appearing in his hand from a shroud of blue. Immediately his senses were alight.

“Alright, let’s do this!” Nero darted forward, bringing the katana down diagonally to bisect the closest demon. The cut was so clean that it only fell apart once it hit the ground, dead. “Woah!” Dante hopped up to sit on one of the garden walls, leaning back casually to watch. Now with only Nero to focus on, the demons swarmed. He waited until the vanguard were close enough, and spun the blade in a circle around him that sliced off heads and limbs. Without pause he launched into a dance of slicing and dodging, carving his way steadily through the little horde.

“Woo, go kid!” Dante cheered when he dashed past his spot on the wall. Nero laughed as he went, twisting his body into each swing and leaping up to split apart an enemy mid-air. When he landed he turned to engage the rest of the demons, only to find that there were none – they were all lying in dissolving pieces. All the crystallised blood within a small radius was absorbed into his Bringer. He stood, feet braced, blood singing, panting.

Dante flipped down from his perch and moseyed over, hands on his hips. “Nice work Nero, they’re history!”

“Yeah,” the teen breathed. With it all said and done, he was feeling the strain that the Yamato put him under. He tried to straighten up, swaying.

“Careful there! You weren’t kidding that she wore you out.”

 _‘You’d best recall her now before you faint.’_ Yamato disappeared once more, tucked snugly into Nero’s being.

“How was that?”

“Let’s see, all the demons are dead, no property damage…” the hunter rattled off. “You could do with more practice, you’re a little more stylish with that other flaming sword of yours.” Before Nero’s pout could even form Dante swiftly followed up with, “ _But_ , that detective work at the beginning? Colour me impressed!” The frown vanished, and Nero swiped at his nose shyly. “C’mon, let’s head back and I’ll rustle us up some grub.”

It turned out that ‘rustle up some grub’ meant ordering a huge pizza. Not that Nero was complaining. They lounged around for the rest of the evening, talking easily about demons (specifically, the killing of them) and munching on their slices. Nero didn’t realise he was falling asleep until his head lolled, and he jolted up again.

“Past your bedtime?”

“Shut up,” he grumbled without vemon.

“You can go on upstairs if you want, don’t stay up on my account.” It wasn’t exactly early, but he didn’t want to be rude by disappearing. Dante didn’t look tired in the slightest.

 _‘You should do as he suggests; you’ll need every ounce of strength to be able to put up with him tomorrow.’_ Nero quirked a little smile, giving in and rocking to his feet.

“Alright,” he told them both, “guess I am pretty beat.”

“Catch ya tomorrow, kid.”

The spare room was slightly cold. Nero was glad that he’d packed his long-sleeved pyjamas (though he always rolled one of them up over his Bringer). He drew the dusty curtain and slid into the narrow bed, curling up to keep in his body heat. As usual, his reliably warm devil hand had pride of place tucked under his cheek.

Outside, the city was so much louder than he was used to. Nighttimes on Fortuna saw it become a ghost town. Here, cars rumbled by frequently, the headlights illuminating the small strip of space between curtain and wall. People chatted together noisily as they passed the Devil May Cry office, the effect of alcohol making their laughter boisterous.

He’d only ever slept in two different beds his whole life; one in the orphanage and his bed at Kyrie’s house. This one felt cramped in comparison to both - as shitty as the orphanage one had been, he was a lot smaller back when he was occupying it. It wasn’t as soft as his current one either.

But he couldn’t care less. In the morning it would be 24 hours since his departure from Fortuna. 24 hours since he had to endure people clutching their pearls as he passed by, 24 hours since he’d caught his sister giving his Bringer an uncomfortable glance when she thought he wasn’t looking. He was staying with the most kick-ass and carefree person he’d ever met, eating greasy food and chatting and sending demons back to Hell. _Today was the most fun I’ve had in…forever_.

_‘Close your eyes Nero, it’s been a long day.’_

“Hmm…” It was strange to think that it really _was_ just that morning he’d woken up in his own room, buzzing with equal parts anticipation and apprehension. “I hate that I can’t talk to you,” he admitted, voice barely a whisper.

_‘What do you need to say?’_

“Nothing specific, just…anything. Everything.” Nero was used to speaking to his demon whenever he pleased; they were alone most of the time on Fortuna.

_‘Well, do you have any parting words before sleep?’_

“Can’t we stay up to talk?”

 _‘No you most certainly cannot.’_ Oh ok, since when was Vergil the boss of him? _What am I, five?_

“I can if I want,” Nero challenged. His traitorous body had other ideas, however – no sooner had he finished his sentence when his jaw stretched in a long yawn.

 _‘Are you sure about that?’_ Nero _hmph_ ed at the end of his yawn, snapping his teeth into the rippled flesh of his Bringer’s palm. Vergil clicked his tongue at the sting. _‘Nero,’_ he scolded softly. _‘One day with Dante and you’re already feral.’_ The young hybrid released his palm to yawn again.

“Sorry.” Wholly without thinking, he planted a small kiss over the fading indents of the bite. He was already halfway to sleep; too far under to fully realise what he’d done, too happy to care. “G’night.”

‘Good night little one.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me every time I see a comment in my inbox:
> 
> >:3c


	9. Breakfast and Lunch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's not very action filled, just some of Nero experiencing the mainland and life with Dante. I feel like I'm writing him pretty ooc, but he's showing his vulnerable side a lot more now he's out of his comfort zone (if Fortuna can ever count as that). Hope you enjoy!

Nero’s body clock woke him at dawn. He was groggy, and the unfamiliar surroundings disoriented him for a moment. When his mind finally caught up he settled back under the duvet, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. All he needed was a little time to wind up for the day.

It was strange how much quieter Red Grave was in the morning compared to late at night. In the five minutes he spent lounging in bed he didn’t hear a single car, much less a pedestrian. A little bird was nesting in the roof-space of the building next door, chirping sweetly to its mate. Not exactly comparable to the dawn chorus on Fortuna, but Nero supposed it was to be expected of such a built-up area.

Sticking to his vow of silence, as Dante’s room had to be on the second storey as well, Nero tapped deliberately on his Bringer in greeting.

_‘I’m surprised you’re already awake.’_

"Hmm." He'd slept well for however long he had; he was asleep as soon as he'd closed his eyes after - 

_Shit. Shit!_ The kiss. He'd kissed him. He'd really, actually given him a kiss goodnight. All the way in Hell, Vergil had felt his lips on his hand. _Fuck_ , that was embarrassing. _Why why_ why _did I do that?! Should I say something? Apologise? Wait, I can't. Fuck...Well, Vergil hasn't said anything, maybe he doesn't care?_

The teenager stretched, arching his back into it, and got out of bed before he got too comfortable again. He caught sight of himself in the vanity opposite the bed and gave a half-hearted attempt to pat down the mop of white on his head. Surprisingly for such an old building, the boards under his feet didn’t creak as he padded across them, nor did the door when he left to head downstairs.

A soft morning light was filtering in through the front of the office space, the ironwork of the transom window above the doors casting a patterned shadow on the floor. Nero peeked over the balcony to find Dante with company. There was a man standing before the desk that the red devil was reclined behind, wearing a charcoal grey blazer and dress trousers, a dark waistcoat, and a trilby.

“Morning kid!” Dante greeted, and the man looked up as well to spot the fluffy head of white peering down from the banister.

“You must be the hunter that took care of the case yesterday. The residents wanna extend their thanks.”

“Kid this is Morrison, he brokers jobs for me,” Dante nodded to his guest. _Morrison_. _Broker…Didn’t I call his agency?_ Nero wasn’t in any state to meet new people, in his pyjamas with his hair a mess and freshly awake, but he couldn’t just stay on the balcony either. He descended the stairs and stepped forward to Morrison’s extended hand. The right one. Nero offered his left instead. Morrison didn’t skip a beat as they shook.

“Gotta say you did an excellent job. You’re learning from the best.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Nero.”

“Well Nero, I’m sure we’ll be doing more business together in the future.”

“Talking of business, you got anything else for me?” Dante inquired.

“Not yet, but I’m sure I’ll have something by the end of the day. Here’s your cut from yesterday.” From his pocket Morrison drew a brown envelope, tossing it onto the desk. The hunter snatched it up. Morrison straightened his blazer, nodded to each of them, and turned to let himself out again. “Take it easy, Dante.”

“Always do.”

 _‘I don’t doubt it.’_ No sooner had the doors closed than Nero found himself dodging the envelope that Dante had frisbeed his way.

“That’s yours.” The young hybrid took a peek inside and nearly choked. It was filled with crisp banknotes.

“What? Why?”

“You did all the work on that job, it’s yours.” Nero got given a monthly sum for his duties as a Holy Knight before the Hellgate incident, but it went toward the family funds for food and utilities, and it was never so much in one go. There was no _way_ Dante was just giving him all this!

“But it’s _your_ business, it’s yours.” Nero leant forward as if to hand it back.

“I ain’t taking it, kid.” The hunter reclined in his chair even further, as if he were being offered the plague, grinning.

“Dante!”

 _‘He won’t change his mind, Nero.’_ He huffed and settled back, pouting at the envelope.

“I don’t know what to say..”

“Don’t say anything, you earnt that fair and square! You can put it toward what I have in mind for today, anyway.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Get yourself some breakfast and get ready and we’ll take off. The kitchen’s through there.” Dante gestured to the door next to the chesterfield. Nero took the invitation. The kitchen was narrow, with no appliances aside from an oven with gas hobs and a washing machine. Counters lined the wall under another window, which showed a high-set view of the alley between Devil May Cry and its neighbour.

“You’re up pretty early,” Nero remarked as he bent to start inspecting the cupboards. The devil hunter was already dressed, up and consulting with his broker.

“I haven’t been to bed yet.”

“What?” The teen bumped his head trying to back out of a cabinet. “ _Ow_ \- aren’t you gonna be super tired?” Dante swung up from behind the desk and ambled over to the fridge.

“I don’t sleep much,” he admitted. The hunter pulled out a bottle to read the label and swapped it with a grumble.

_‘Ask him if he’s at least going to change his clothes.’_

“ _No_ – ehem.” Nero quickly cleared his throat to cover up his response. “Uhm, w-what are you looking for?”

“Lady decided to get rid of all the alcohol when she knew you were coming, so we got all this fizzy stuff instead. I’m surprised she didn’t add foam to all the sharp corners too.” Nero smiled, craning his neck to take a peek into the fridge from the awkward angle in the kitchen.

“Think you have enough food?” It was crammed full; the bottles took up the top shelf and the rest was equipped with fruit and vegetables and different kinds of meat.

“Heh, that’s Lady’s fault too. I dunno what she expected when I said you’re a kid, but it looks like she thought a mix of a toddler and bottomless hungry pit!” Vergil huffed out a quiet laugh at that, and Nero’s smile grew. “She even stocked the cupboards too. Hope she wasn’t serious about that hourly rate…” A beverage was picked, and Dante vacated the fridge for the chesterfield.

Nero settled on some plain cereal and started backtracking to the crockery cupboard for a bowl. After he’d loaded one up he headed to the fridge to add some fruit and milk to the bland dish. With the settee occupied he helped himself to the desk chair, munching loudly in the companionable silence. It was comfier than it looked. The older hunter flicked idly through a magazine that he’d pulled from somewhere and sipped the fizzy drink.

Nero let his eyes wander around the office space again, taking in the antique furniture and the drinks bar and the weapons. He wondered what it would look like from a client’s point of view, entering to hire the hunter for their demon problem. The weapons case was probably reassuring; the bar probably not so much. _I dunno, maybe offering people a drink when they’re scared is good for business?_

His eyes then fell to the desk. It wasn’t crowded, just a few thin piles of papers, the rotary phone, and a framed photo of a beautiful woman. Vergil shuffled in his spot again, rustling.

“Who’s this? You got a girlfriend?”

“That’s my mother,” Dante revealed, not looking up from his magazine. “She died when I was little.”

“Oh.” _Bring up his dead mom over breakfast, great idea idiot_. “Sorry.”

“You didn’t know.” Nero took another bite of cereal. He had no idea how to change the subject now that the mood had plummeted. “Chill out kid, you look like you’ve just been told you’ve got five minutes to live. I don’t mind, really.”

“Sorry,” the teen mumbled again sheepishly.

“Don’t sweat it.”

Nero was starting to realise that he and Dante stuck out from the mainlanders more than he’d thought. Aside from the fact that they were tall and topped with pure white hair, the way they dressed set them apart. The city folk’s clothes were different from the garb on Fortuna, sure, but upon closer inspection they weren’t much like what he was wearing either. Most of the people who walked by were simply in a t-shirt and jeans. Nero was in his blue insignia coat and a laced jacket, and Dante (who _had_ changed) was wearing the usual long red duster with a buckled red shirt and black leather trousers. Was it possible that they…dressed weird?

Perhaps he could buy himself some new clothes today; Dante had taken him into town to go shopping. Nero had insisted that he didn’t need anything, but he was told that shopping for whatever you wanted was fun, and that he’d get to see more of Red Grave at the same time.

They’d ridden in on Dante’s motorbike, Nero sat behind grasping onto his shoulders (because he was too shy to put his arms around his middle). One look at all the people on the streets and Nero felt a twist of anxiety in his gut. He buried his Bringer in his coat pocket as they left the bike to join them.

Dante took point, leading the way slowly along the smaller streets of the shopping district. Passers-by would spare them a glance, but the look was never barbed. A few even recognised Dante (really, how could you miss him), and would wave from across the road. At first Nero kept his head down, uncertain about mixing with the people after his lifelong experiences in Fortuna; but in following the experienced hunter as he sauntered around in front with his shoulders back and his chin up, Nero unconsciously began to copy his body language.

Two women stepped out of a shop in front of them, and they stepped aside to let the ladies past. One was examining her arm, bandaged in cling-film. The shopfront of the building they’d left was decorated in graffiti-style art. Intrigued, Nero peered into the window. It was a tattoo parlour, another thing that wasn’t seen on his island.

“Tattoo’s and piercings? You’re going full rebel teen mode!” Dante teased.

“Can you just walk in and get one whenever you want?” How strange that people here could customise themselves how and when they pleased, and the result wouldn't alienate them from their community.

“You’d probably have to make an appointment, but sure. Sorry to burst your bubble kid, but you can’t get one.”

“Because Lady would tell you off?” Nero jeered. The hunter crossed his arms and snorted.

“Well _yeah_ , but I mean because it’d fade away in a few days. If your healing’s anything like mine, piercings and tattoos are a no go.”

“You have a tattoo?”

“Not anymore.” It was Vergil’s turn to snort, giving Nero a little spook. His devil partner had been a lot quieter today.

Dante led them on once more, and Nero became more engaged with looking into shop windows. Every time Dante would ask if he wanted to go in, the teenager shook his head. He didn’t want to be stuck in the claustrophobic stores while the clerks watched him browse around. After a while he began to worry that the hunter was getting annoyed at him, though he didn’t show it.

In the end it was Vergil that managed to convince Nero to actually enter an establishment.

 _‘Why don’t you buy something for Kyrie?’_ his demon ventured as Nero was eyeing the rotating shelves outside of a souvenir shop. Nero hummed his approval of the idea, pushing into the little store. Inside was decked out with Red Grave merchandise, most of it coloured (unsurprisingly) vermillion. _If Dante stood in here he’d blend right in._ There were postcards, bookmarks, fridge magnets, sweets, car stickers – everything a tourist could want.

Immediately he was drawn to a shelf of small teddy bears wearing Red Grave t-shirts. The bear he picked up was big enough to sit in the palm of his hand, with tiny brown glass eyes and a stitched smile. _Kyrie’s gonna fucking love this._ He swiped up a stick of rock for himself as well and payed at the till. For once he didn’t have to worry about not being able to afford his items, Morrison’s envelope of money had seen to that. 500€! Nero was still in shock.

“What’d you get?” Dante probed when the teen exited the shop.

“Souvenir for my sister. You want some of this?” He showed him the stick of rock with _I <3 Red Grave!_ worked into the centre.

“Nah, I don’t like taking candy from babies.” Nero whacked him with the sweet baton, snapping it on his bicep. It hung in two pieces in its plastic wrapper. Dante had his hands up in surrender, smirking.

_‘Hit him again.’_

“Damn, you’re even dangerous with candy!” The rock went back into the plastic bag before he could be tempted to give him another thump, Nero fighting the smile playing at his lips lest he encourage the hunter even more. They fell into step, carving their way steadily along the thoroughfare.

Nero was fascinated by how quirky the stores were in Red Grave. There was a shop that sold rocks and gemstones of all things, carved into little statues or left in colourful chunks. Further along was a business that claimed to be able to tell your fortune with, judging by the sign, cards and your hand.

Dante crossed the street suddenly, and Nero could smell why as he tagged along. There was another bakery nearby. He had no qualms with this tangent; his mouth was watering before he’d even caught sight of the pastries and confectionery in the display window. “Pick whatever you want kid.” Nero went fishing for his wallet and Dante bat his hand away. “My treat.”

“But-”

“Yep. And don’t gimme that look.”

“What look?”

“ _That_ one." Dante indicated to his entire face and poked at his furrowed brow and moue. “You look like-” the hunter faltered, something passing over his face so quickly Nero almost didn’t catch it, “you look grumpy.”

“Thanks,” Nero deadpanned. He tapped on the window by the thickest millionaire shortbread that had probably ever existed. “Can I get that one?” Dante disappeared into the bakery. _What was that about? What was he gonna call me?_ He couldn’t imagine Dante was going to say something _actually_ insulting, he wasn’t that kind of person. Vergil _tsk_ ed.

_‘He feeds you nothing but junk.’_

“I like junk.” Usually Nero ate quite healthily, it was fitting that he was having a break while he was on the mainland.

A mother and her young boy exited the bakery beside him with a tinkle of the bell. The boy took an unabashedly nosy look at Nero and pointed to his Devil Bringer with a gingerbread loaded hand.

“Look! Mommy look! Look at his arm!”

“ _Stop it_ ,” she hissed in a stage whisper, trying to tug her son along by his tiny hand. She very pointedly did not look at the teen. “Stop staring or I’ll take your biscuits away.” Nero slipped his hand back into his pocket as they walked off. He scanned the moving crowd around him to see if anyone had heard, the frightened faces of the Fortunians flashing in his mind.

_‘Don’t pay any attention to the child, Nero.’_

“I’m not.”

_‘And yet you still hid your arm.’_

“Just – quit bothering me about it, please.” A passer-by gave him a dirty look for talking to himself, and Nero squared up and stared straight back at him. “What?!” The guy snapped his head forward again and not-so-subtly increased his pace.

Dante emerged, tossing him the brick of a treat in its paper bag. The hunter himself had an enormous strawberry meringue, already with a bite taken out. “Took your time.”

“Aw, were you getting lonely?” Nero gave him a very ineffective warning look and wrestled one-handed with the shortbread bag. At his side, he felt Dante scrutinising his sudden change in behaviour. “…Someone say something, kid?”

“No, I – I just wanna do what I want with it without everyone telling me not to!” he snapped.

“Okay Nero.” Dante stood next to the teen, watching him bristle. Nero held his breath, trying to slow his heartbeat. Fighting with demons never made him anxious the way conflict with people did.

“…Sorry. Didn’t mean it to sound like that.”

“That’s alright kid. If it’s really bothering you we can get ya another sling or something-”

“No,” he interjected too sharply. “It’s…I just don’t like big crowds.” Nero sighed. “Thanks for the chocolate thing.”

_Why am I like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there wasn't much Vergil/Nero interaction in this one (and that it was short and shit), there will be in the next! Thank you all for your support, all these comments and kudos are insane! <3


	10. An Eventful Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! Last chapter we had officially caught up to where I had written ahead, so the wait was me banging this one out.
> 
> On a more positive note, OMG 100 kudos!!! Thank you all so much, its so bizarre to think that a hundred people liked this enough to hit kudos. Your wonderful comments give me that sweet Vergillian motivation too!

Morrison’s call never came, so Dante proposed that they spar instead. Nero could go all out with the Yamato. It’s not that he _wanted_ to hurt him, but the hunter’s smug declaration that Nero was no match for him made him wanna prove him wrong just that little bit.

So, they found themselves in the vacant street right outside Devil May Cry under the orange turn of the afternoon, facing off like two old movie cowboys. Dante had the Rebellion, and Nero had…a kitchen knife. There wasn’t a blade on the property that wasn’t a Devil Arm, and seeing as how the point of the exercise was for him to use Yamato he was really, actually expected to use a carving knife against a claymore.

Good thing he liked a challenge.

Nero made the first move, darting forward and around his opponent to get him shifted. As long as Dante had his feet set his little knife wouldn’t break through his guard. There was no way he could lock blades with Rebellion using a kitchen utensil; he had to get around her if he were going to get to her wielder. But ~~if~~ when he did, could he actually bring himself to hurt Dante?

The hunter’s stance looked casual and loose, but it was measured. He kept his front to Nero as the teen tested the waters, venturing closer to bait him into lashing out with the sword. Rebellion flew out in an arc, forcing him back.

 _‘Be cautious, Nero.’_ Vergil wasn’t altogether happy with the setup. The sparring idea he voiced no dissention over, but he objected the use of the knife. There were a slew of words used in the following lecture, which were directed at the oblivious Dante for once, including ‘idiotic’, ‘irresponsible’, ‘reckless’, and ‘negligent’. (Then he brought up the fact that he’d just fed Nero pizza again for dinner and the teen wondered why his devil was so pissed off).

Nero feinted left to draw Rebellion away, but he wasn’t fast enough to reach Dante before she was swinging back to chase him off. He felt the rush of air from the blade on his face.

“You aren’t scared, are ya?”

“Of you? Gimme a break.” The teen drew close again, trying to dance around the reach of the claymore; but he was just too slow. Or maybe it was just that Dante was inconceivably fast? Either way he wasn’t having much luck, fliting this way and that to get behind his guard. Each time Rebellion whooshed past within a hair’s breadth of his face the coil of frustration inside tightened just that little bit more. “You’re not making this easy.”

“Oh, you want me to go easy on you?”

“No!” Nero protested, “But I _know_ you’re making it hard on purpose!”

“Having trouble are we?” Dante flung his blade out horizontally to drive off Nero’s next advance, and the young hybrid ducked underneath to slice his legs. Again, the hunter was too quick, kicking his hand away smoothly and putting more distance between them. “Want me to use a handicap? Cover my eyes? Tie a hand behind my back?”

“You can start with closing your mouth.” Nero came at him head-on, Dante batting him away with a laugh.

“Where’s the fun in that?” This time Dante made the first move, skating forward to give his sword a swing with a lot more power behind it than the others. Not able to cross blades with him, Nero was forced to evade or get something severed off.

“What the Hell was that?!”

“You want me to stand still as well?” The hunter rolled his eyes, resting Rebellion on his shoulder. “What’s next, drop my weapons?” It was obviously a ploy to get Nero to attack, so he held back, tense.

 _‘I believe he’s trying to irk you deliberately to hasten Yamato’s arrival. Keep yourself in check, and you may be able to surprise him with it._ ’ Catch _Dante_ off guard? Nero liked the sound of that. He gently probed for the sword inside himself, testing her energy. If he could keep his awareness there while engaging with the hunter he just might be able to pull her out at a moment’s notice.

“How ‘bout this – when I’ve got Yamato _you_ have to use this knife.” Dante barked with laughter.

“Knife versus the Yamato?”

“Uh, hello? Knife versus the Rebellion?!” Nero put on his best simpering tone, holding his arms out. “What’s the matter, you aren’t scared are you? I can use a handicap; close my eyes and tie my hand behind my back.” The hunter clicked his tongue, giving him a rueful smile.

“Alright kid, alright. Hand it over.” Rebellion was holstered on the hunter’s back, and Nero saw his opportunity. He got closer to throw the knife, watching Dante’s face intently for the moment he looked away to focus on it. _Now_.

The hybrid burst from his spot, katana already in hand and cutting the air. Dante evaded in a blur, still far to fast even for an ambush. “Nice try!”

“Agh, fuck! Thought I had you.” _...And if I had?_ he suddenly thought. Devil Arms were no joke, it was one thing using a plain old knife against him, but Yamato...“Think I could hurt you with this?” he called out.

“You? Nah, no way. I’ve been stabbed by her plenty of times by a swordmaster and I’m still here aren’t I?”

“As if!” Son of Sparda or no, no one human or demon could survive something like that!

“Don’t believe me? How about this; you try and stab me and then see if I’m joking.”

“You wanna get stabbed?”

“You think you can stab me?” _Oh it’s on_. Nero closed the gap yet again, slicing at the hunter. Dante actually managed to deflect the ancient Devil Arm with the carving knife, inspecting the cheap blade as Nero was knocked away. The metal was glowing hot, warped with a slight dent where Yamato had clashed with it. “Probably shouldn’t do that again,” he mused.

Nero went at him with another flurry, and Dante stepped to the side of each strike coolly. “Don’t put your shoulder into it so much kid. And don’t put your feet so close together.”

“Is this a sparring match or an exam?”

“You want to get better, don’tcha?” Yamato came down vertically, knocked away by the tiny knife. Dante chuckled and held it out so Nero could see the damage; the blade was bent backward, red-hot metal twisting and gnarling as they watched. “That’s the end of that.” The knife was tossed away and replaced with Rebellion. Now they could really spar without all of the evasion.

Just like the day they’d been reunited on Fortuna the sister blades came together with a rich ringing. Unlike the day on Fortuna, Dante gave a few retaliatory swipes of his own. Both of them held their ground for the most part, starting a volley of beating and parrying. It was admittedly strange to use his right hand to try and match someone swing for swing, but somehow he felt much better clutching Yamato in his Devil Bringer.

As they slipped into a good rhythm the hunter backed off, holding the tip of Rebellion down to let him know he was stopping. “You alright kid? You’re looking a lil’ green around the gills there.” Nero took a step back too, shoulder’s drooping. Why didn’t he notice how drained he was getting?

“I’m gonna take a break,” he panted. Yamato was dismissed, and he sat himself down in the middle of the road.

“Sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Just outta breath.” Would his Devil Arm ever stay out long enough to hurt him? Didn't seem likely; she put up so much resistance when he wasn't ready to summon her. "How was that?"

"You need to work on your movements. You're still a little..." The hunter waved an arm about in the most opaque gesture possible.

"What's that even mean?" he whined.

"Y'know. Movements. Hey, don't get beat up about it kid, you're still badass! You'll get her eventually." Nero had no idea what he wasn't getting in the first place. “Let’s call it a day. C’mon.” The hybrid didn’t mind taking Dante’s right hand to get pulled back to his feet. “There’s a slice of leftover pizza inside with your name on it.”

After sitting down with the leftovers Nero excused himself to go clean up. The upstairs bathroom was first on the left. When Nero first saw it, he began to question if Dante even knew what modern furniture was. This room wasn’t so much antique as outdated in a the-pipes-probably-need-changing way. It was white tile along the floor on walls, the toilet was high level with a brass chain flush, and the freestanding tub was made of dented iron and pushed into the corner under a flimsy showerhead.

Nero fiddled with the lever on the faucet, and the pipes juddered. _Okay…bath it is_. He didn’t trust the look of the shower. The lever squeaked back without a concerning groan of plumbing.

As the bath was running, Nero stripped out of his clothes and swapped them with a towel to leave them folded on the rack. The original large window was bricked up and replaced with a smaller privacy one, which he cracked open to let out the steam. From downstairs, even over the sound of the taps, he could hear Dante’s laughter as he chatted over the phone downstairs. _It’s gotta be safe to talk now._

“Do you think my fighting’s that bad?”

_‘I don’t believe Dante was trying to insult you.’_

“No, I know…I just wish I was better. I still don’t get what I’m getting wrong with it, that’s the way I use Red Queen.” He swirled his hand in the rising water to check the temperature. “He must hate watching me use the Yamato so stupidly.”

_‘You are not stupid; you’ve never been taught.’_

“I spent years training as a knight,” Nero pointed out.

_‘Yes, but you weren’t taught the correct way to use a weapon like Yamato.’_

“Guess not.” The young hybrid clambered into the tub with a sigh. He had to bend his knees to lay back comfortably, and he wasn’t even as tall as the proprietor. Rippled blue light from his Bringer played on the side of the bathtub.

_‘I…happen to have experience with blades like the Yamato. If you want the appropriate training, I could give it to you.’_

“Really?” Nero chirped. His demon knew how to use katanas? That was lucky.

_‘Yes. I suspect it will be difficult for me to assess your form all the way from Hell, but we can try.’_

“Yes! That’s great!”

_‘Shhh.’_

“Ah, sorry.” He dropped his volume back down. “I wanna learn. If there’s a proper way to use Yamato, I wanna know it.”

_‘Hm, that’s a good ethic for a warrior.’_

“When can we start?”

_‘The next time you are fit to summon-’_

“Why not sooner? I can practice with a stick or something.”

_‘The discipline I use is best practiced with the weapon itself. You need to get used to holding and drawing it correctly.’_

“Then it’s gonna take ages,” Nero huffed. “I can only hold it for a few minutes at a time.”

 _‘Skills aren’t mastered overnight, little one. Especially one such as this.’_ The teen dunked his head underwater and lathered his wet hair with the shampoo from the bricked-up windowsill. With his right arm no longer suitable for rubbing at his body he’d become a pro at washing himself one handed. His Bringer had its own routine; he had a nail brush that he scrubbed the scutes with to make sure his scales were nice and clean. _‘…Actually, there is a resource that can assist you further. It’s here, in Red Grave.’_

“What is it?”

_‘A book. It’s located in a derelict house on the outskirts of the city – if you want it this may be your last chance before you head back to Fortuna.’_

“You mean – go there tonight?”

_‘Yes. You cannot let Dante know where you are going or why, you will have to sneak out. I can lead you to the house.’_

“I-I dunno…” He wanted that book, but lying to Dante? “Sneaking around…isn’t that a little ungrateful?”

 _‘Do whatever you think is best,’_ Vergil advised. _Dammit, I really want that book!_

“Is the book any good?”

_‘It was of great help while I myself was learning.’_

“Do you think I can learn without it?”

_‘Are you trying to get me to talk you into retrieving it, Nero?’_

“No. Maybe.”

_‘I severely doubt Dante will be offended by any course of action you decide to take.’_

“Yeah but – ugh, alright. Let’s go get the book.”

Nero felt awful already. He’d told Dante that he was retiring for bed, but he was still dressed, poised to jump out of the bedroom window. It wasn’t the second storey fall that was making him hesitate, but the decision to go behind the hunter’s back. What Dante didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?

The hybrid braced himself for a silent landing and pushed off from the sill. He paused where he landed, still in a crouch, listening. There was no sudden movement inside, he must have been quiet enough. Staying low, Nero skirted under the arched windows of Devil May Cry. Dante was still talking animatedly over the phone.

 _‘Left here, Nero.’_ On the street the lights were dim, the neon sign of the devil hunting business casting a pink glow on the pavement. Nero turned away from it and scuttled off.

People were few and far between, especially when compared to the city centre that morning. Whether they were on their way for a drink, on their way back from one, or just commuting home they paid Nero no mind.

“Which way now?”

_‘Keep heading west.’_

“Sorry, I didn’t think to bring my _compass_. Could you be more specific?”

_‘Go right.’_

“Right.” A dog barked from far off. Clouds slipped across the night sky, periodically obscuring the crescent moon. “How come you know about this house? You learn how to fight there?” Vergil hummed vaguely, making Nero wait for his answer.

_‘I…was squatting there once. I left the book there when I returned to the Underworld.’_

“We’ve both been to Red Grave. Small world, huh?”

 _‘Indeed. Turn left.’_ A gust of wind tousled his still damp hair and Nero suppressed a shiver. It was especially cold again tonight. From around the next corner came a gaggle of five boys his own age; laughing, smoking, hoods up. Being the only other thing on the street, they clocked him immediately.

“Hey! What’re you lookin’ at?” _Oh great_. He ducked his head and crossed the road. And they crossed right with him. _Fuck sake._

“He’s tryna run away look!”

“Are you gonna answer me or what?”

 _‘Pathetic. Ignore them.’ I plan to._ One of them pushed forward and drew a switchblade in the measliest display of intimidation that Nero had ever witnessed. After sparring with a legendary demon hunter this switchblade wasn't doing much.

“Will you fuck off?” he growled, and the group seethed.

“What the FUCK did you just say?!”

“Slash him, Dino!” All five of them surged at him, the armed teen at the helm with the blade outstretched. Nero sidestepped the tiny knife casually, driving his left fist into the attacker’s face and sending him bowling back through his friends by several feet.

“Woah, fuck!” Nero blurted, “I-I didn’t mean to do it that hard!”

“Shit, it’s a demon!” another youth cried when the hybrid un-pocketed his Bringer. The downed teenager struggled to sit, hollering, blood gushing from between his fingers as he held his face.

“Sorry, uh, you okay?” They hoisted their friend up and fled clumsily, tripping over each other in their haste to get away. Nero stood like a lemon, watching. “…That…could’ve gone better.”

_‘I thought you did rather well.’_

“Yeah right, I nearly took that guy’s head off. Ew, is that a tooth?”

 _‘They were asking for trouble. Perhaps they’ll think twice before approaching their next would-be victim.’_ Nero sidestepped the blood splatter on the pavement. _‘Carry straight on here.’_

“Think that guy will be ok? That was a lot of blood.”

 _‘Humans bleed profusely. I wouldn’t worry.’_ What would Dante think if he knew Nero was out at night getting into petty fights?

The buildings became smaller and thinned out as they ventured further toward the edge of the city. Nero hopped the steps of an old stone cattle grid at the edge of a graveyard. _‘Good. I know where we are now.’_

“You didn’t before?!”

_‘I know the house is to the west of the city; I never ventured into Red Grave proper.’_

“Saviour, how are we supposed to get back if we don’t know the way?”

_‘I can help you retrace your steps, trust me Nero.’_

“I _do_ trust you,” he insisted. Hell, he trusted Vergil with his life! Getting lost in the foreign city while Dante didn’t even know he was gone wasn’t ideal, but he knew he’d be fine as long as he had his devil companion by his side.

 _‘Take the path at the end of this cemetery, the house is in the next clearing.’_ Headstones sat at an angle over sunken graves, engravings faded and coarse and almost disappearing under the unkempt grass. Sure enough, when Nero stumbled out of the overgrown, barely-there path he came across the property in question. In the dark at a distance it was hard to make it out, but it looked big. The hybrid trotted up to the low drystone wall and hopped over.

It _was_ big, half again as large as Kyrie’s grand house on Fortuna. Grey masonry walls were choked with ivy and blackened with soot. The red roof had caved in on the left wing of the building. _Looks like there was a fire_. Nero trudged up to the front doors, which were cracked and half-burnt and rusted into place on their hinges. He grabbed the knob of one and started yanking at it, each pull creating a piercing squeaking.

“It won’t budge.”

 _‘Keep trying.’_ Another flurry of yanking and the door flew outward with a screech, Nero barely keeping his footing. The taste of ash flooded his senses as the stale air was shifted. Inside was near pitch-black, making it difficult to see even with his enhanced vision. With the sky overcast there wasn’t much natural light flooding the room either.

Nero crept in, running his Bringer along the wall in front of him as he went to keep his bearings and add some light to the space. The foyer fell away past musty, heavy drapery into the main hall – flanked on either side by flights of stairs, the furniture dusty and ashy and slightly askew. He stumbled over a chunk of the ceiling beam that had fallen, cursing. _Wish I’d bought a torch or something_.

Venturing further in, he lifted his Bringer to illuminate the fireplace at the head of the room in a dim blue glow. Hanging above it, knocked at an angle, was a large painting. _The people who lived here?_ It definitely had fire damage, and beyond that he couldn’t make anything out. As he stepped closer, Vergil piped up. _‘Move along now, there’s no time to dawdle if you want to make it back to Devil May Cry before sunup. Take the stairs to your left.’_ Nero picked his way cautiously to the staircase; hesitating when the first step groaned under his weight.

“You sure this place isn’t gonna fall apart?”

 _‘…Tread carefully.’_ Nothing splintered as he ascended, so he took it as a good sign. _‘Take the second door, then the last one on the right through that.’_

“Okay.” The teen had to shoulder his way in, the warped wood clinging to the frame. _Last door on the right_. His Bringer slid along the wall again, guiding him. Rough divots under his fingertips made him pause. There were deep scores raked into the surface, splitting the curling wallpaper. Claw marks. _Demons?_ “What do you think happened here?” Whoever owned the place obviously had enough money to renovate it after a fire. Unless the demons…

 _‘Come along now, Nero.’_ The last door seemed to have escaped the worst of the flames. It opened as perfectly as it should into a small library, walls lined with high, laden bookshelves. A paned window let in some natural light, resting on the surface of a long table at the centre. _‘Everything’s intact,’_ Vergil mused.

“Guess this room got lucky.”

_‘That’s fortunate. The contents of these books are valuable beyond compare.’_

“Where am I looking for your one?”

 _‘Bookshelf by the window, in the middle.’_ Nero repeated the instructions to himself softly, running his demonic fingers over the thick spines one by one until he heard Vergil grunt.

“This one?”

_‘No – no, it’s not here.’_

“What?”

_‘It’s…I must have left it in another room.’_

“We’re gonna be here all night,” the teen despaired.

 _‘I know which one. Go back to the main hall and take the first door.’_ They retraced their steps, sealing the library again at Vergil’s insistence. Wind whistled in through the main entrance, a voice wailing in the dark. A human wouldn’t be able to see a single thing in Nero’s shoes.

“The creep factor in this place is pretty high…It’s so weird that nothings been touched; like, no one’s broken in to steal anything, all the furniture is the same as it has been for years. Frozen in time.”

_‘There’s nothing to fear.’_

“I’m not scared, I just said it was creepy!” A loud, drawn-out creak sounded from the other side of the house, freezing Nero in his tracks.

_‘Not scared, hm?’_

“Shut up. I’m listening for danger,” he stated matter-of-factly.

 _‘Of course. It’s through the middle door after this one.’_ This corridor was as pitch black as the first, his sense of touch steering him forward. The knob rattled loosely as he grappled with it. Thankfully there was another window in this room. Nero let himself in, eyes adjusting to suck in the low light, and stumbled over something that clattered away from his feet. He stooped to pick it up, and his heart dropped.

A shoe. A very little shoe.

_A kid’s room._

He placed the shoe back down. He could still feel the deep scores of the demon claw marks at his fingertips. _‘There, on the table. It has to be one of those,’_ Vergil steered him. On a very low table with a tiny matching chair were a few piled tomes. Nero crouched to unstack them, laying them all out for examination. Their shiny lettering glinted in the light of his Bringer. _Guide to garden butterflies_ , _La città di Dite_ , _1400_ , and a leather-bound book simply titled with the letter _V_. _‘1400. That’s the book we’re here for.’_ The young hybrid swiped it up and flicked through to a random page. Microscopic letters and thick paragraphs. Great. At least it wasn’t that thick…

“Alright, let’s-”

_‘Wait. That other one, with the roman numeral. It belongs to me as well.’_

“Want me to take it?”

 _‘If you would.’_ Curiosity piqued, Nero took a glimpse inside. The text all seemed to be handwritten over watercolours.

“‘Tyger, Tyger, burning bright, in the forests of the night’ – poetry; of course! Worried you’re gonna run out of material?”

 _‘I’d simply prefer it to be in your care.’_ Then he’d treat it with the same reverence he did the Yamato. Books safely in hand - or, in coat - Nero made his way out of the derelict house, careful not to trip on the wooden train track winding around the floor.

Once out he shouldered the front door back into place, sealing it. The night air smelt so fresh and verdant compared to the stuffy residence. He jumped back over the low wall and scoured the hedgerow ahead for the opening to the graveyard. Nero gave one last look over his shoulder.

“Shame that place is just left to rot. I hope the family that lived there got out ok.”

Vergil didn’t make a sound.

Backtracking wasn’t as hard as Nero had feared, especially with his observant devil on the case. They deliberated on which street names they had taken, and which went in the wrong direction, making their way back into the city. At a junction of terraced houses and a public park they discovered their next obstacle.

“You feel that?” Nero flexed the fingers of his Devil Bringer slowly.

 _‘Yes. Whatever it is, it’s strong. I know you won’t listen when I say approaching it unarmed is folly, so keep your guard up.’_ The signature was undoubtedly coming from the park, beating outward in malignant waves. It definitely wasn’t Dante. There were people sleeping peacefully in their homes all around, he couldn’t let the threat go unchecked.

Nero stalked right down the centre of the green. Here the air was still, the sounds of the outside world dissipating at the park border. He caught the scent of it then, stale as stagnant water – or was that just the pond up ahead? It was close, it must be able to sense him too by now. _Let’s cut to the chase._

“Where are you hiding?” the teenager called out. “I know you’re there. Come on out, I’ll make it quick!” Nothing. Nero cocked his head this way and that, trying to pick up a sound. _Ugh, c’mon. I don’t have all night!_

A ripple disturbed the expanse of the pond. _There_. At the centre something pale breached the surface. A human hand. Or, what _looked_ like a human hand. It was joined by another, different skin tone, different size, and another and another; until a whole pack of arms were waving for help above the water. The rest of the demon’s body followed.

It rose quickly, sending waves lapping at the edge of the basin. Back first, where the arms were growing out of, head rearing up after in a fluid motion to top near twenty foot above the surface. And that was just what was showing. The face was rounded and serpentine, studded irregularly with countless beady black eyes above and below its mouth. Slimy, olive green lips parted in a raspy sigh.

“Spardaaa…”

“There you are. Can’t you read? The sign says no swimming.”

“I’d remember the foul smell of his kinsfolk anywhere.” _It smells Dante on me._ “Disgusting little creature, how sullied your blood is…allow me to rid you of it!” Nero shot sideways as the demon brought its head down, driving it into the spot he’d been standing in. Slinking forward onto the grass, it hauled itself out of the water on six clawed fins. Good, there was no way in Hell Nero was getting in the water to fight it.

“What kinda demon is this?” Vergil was able to identify his enemies; sometimes he was even familiar with the more powerful individuals.

 _‘I believe that’s Draghignazzo.’_ The devil in question raised its head again, throat swelling with a deep gurgle. Seconds later it spat out a thick ball of mucus at the hybrid, almost hitting him. Nero took a breath and coughed it back out. The mucus smelt putrid, so much so that he gagged. Demons stank, but this was something else – it made his eyes water and his mouth flood with saliva. _‘Get a hold of yourself, Nero! You cannot lose focus against this foe.’_ Nero didn’t dare open his mouth to reply, lest he vomit. He did say he’d make it quick, and now he certainly had no desire to drag this out.

Yamato offered no resistance as she was called forth. Shitty technique or no, it would be enough to get the job done.

“Little worm! Resisting your demise is futile!”

“ _Worm?_ Taken a look in the mirror lately?” he wheezed out. Out of the water, Draghignazzo somewhat resembled an eel. A ribbon-finned tail lashed out, thwacking a ditch into the grass. Nero swiftly switched the momentum of his dodge, lurching back to slice at it. Yamato carved through fin and flesh and bone.

Draghignazzo screeched, recoiling. Under the night sky the blood that poured belatedly from the wound looked black. More mucus was belched up his way, and Nero was quick to cover his face tightly with his human hand and put a lot of distance between himself and the gunk. The head was still held high. That was his main target.

The demon pumped all six of its fins in unison to heave itself closer, wielding its head like a whip to smash him. If only it would stop flailing so he could attack - it was deceptively fast for its size. As it drew back he saw his chance, leaping up to bring Yamato down on its hideous face. Draghignazzo opened its mouth wide, but was still too far to strike. At least, that was what Nero thought until a second jaw darted out from its maw and clamped onto his leg. “Fuck!”

 _‘Nero!’_ He was hurled down onto the ground, pain bursting in his calf. The demon thrashed, shaking him violently like a ragdoll and slamming him in the mud. Heat flared in his palm where he was holding the Yamato, flooding up his arm and throughout his entire body. Blue energy pulsed out from his core, knocking his opponent away. The pain in his leg receded as his healing was kicked into overdrive. Vergil had entered the fight.

Letting his instincts guide him Nero skated forward, taking advantage of the demon’s momentary disorientation to get in close and run the katana into the flesh between the first and second fin. The Devil Arm was accompanied by a second spectral one, in the charge of Vergil’s phantom at his back. As Draghignazzo jerked away Nero vaulted from one side of its thick body to the other, stabbing his blade in at the spine and dragging it downward with his fall. By now the demon’s anguished cries had to have woken the neighbours.

“Wretch! Loathsome hatchling!” Nero danced away from a head swing, daring to give it a gash along the long neck. Skin and muscle were rent by two thin, deep slices. The creature seemed to have lost control of its body below the injury on its backbone, giving it nothing to counterbalance against its writhing. Draghignazzo’s upper body pitched, an opening to end it. Nero ran and slid on the heels of his feet under the falling devil, parting the throat with Yamato. It fell limp, torrents of blood spurting from the wound. “N-no!” it burbled, most of the breath escaping in bubbles through the new slit in its gullet. “Vile Spardakin! _How?!_ I have…b-been…defeat-ed…”

One last, spasmic shudder and it was dead. The revolting bile spilled out of its throat as the muscles relaxed, the teen stumbling back before he caught a whiff of it. Yamato dispelled along with Vergil’s spectre. Fatigue seeped into him. What he wouldn’t give to be able to teleport straight to bed! Or maybe another bath, he had mud all over him.

“We did it,” he cheered listlessly.

_‘You should be proud Nero, that was a high order demon.’_

“Hurray,” the hybrid sighed.

 _‘Look – the carcass.’_ Nero watched as the flaking cinders coalesced into a ball of light, wafting in his direction. He tensed.

“Another attack?”

 _‘No; reach out and take it.’_ Doing as directed, he held a palm up and out warily for the ball. It flashed as it reached him, the light fading to unveil a weapon. It was a flail, with a heavy striking head in the vague shape of Draghignazzo’s head on the end of a chain – the points of its many eyes were long spikes, mouth open and needle teeth splayed out in every direction. _‘Congratulations Nero, your first Devil Arm. Aside from Yamato, of course.’_

“Sweet. This is great, I wanted to get Dante something to say thanks for letting me stay.”

_“What- you – you’re giving it to Dante?’_

“Yeah, this is much cooler than anything I could buy in town. Plus, it means I don’t have to actually go shopping.”

_‘You really want to part with it? Your first trophy of a commendable fight?’_

“I don’t need it, I got Red Queen and the Yamato. He likes collecting these things anyway. You think I should keep it?”

 _‘I suppose you don’t have much of a need for it. It’s yours to do with as you please.’_ Nero gave it an experimental swing, the strike _whoosh_ ing through the air. His Bringer absorbed the new spoil, taking the weight out of his hand. _‘You’re very kind to think of Dante.’_

On aching feet Nero left the park, each step taking a little more out of him. Saviour, he was so tired! I _feel like lying down in the street and sleeping right here_ … Carefully he reached inside his coat to check on the books, worried that they may have been damaged in the fight. Thankfully neither of them were any worse for wear. He yawned, swaying on his feet. _‘“Little wanderer, hie thee home”.’_

“Yeah, ‘m trying.” Each step brought him that much closer to bed. Nero let Vergil take the navigational reins, shuffling along the much quieter streets at his instruction.

He could have cried when he saw the red glow of Devil May Cry’s signage. Tiptoeing into the alley, the teen grit his teeth when he eyed the second storey window he now had to get up to. A jump from here to the wall of the building opposite and back would land him on the sill; an easy manoeuvre for a more energetic Nero. For an absolutely drained Nero? It was one more hurdle he wished he didn’t have to clear. Perhaps he could do it in two steps instead.

With a deep breath he gave a tiny run-up and sprang up as far as he could, digging his toes into the wall where he landed and using it as leverage to give another hop. Catching the open window ledge, Nero pulled himself up and scrabbled his feet until he spilt back into his room, panting. _Finally!_

Nero reckoned he could get away with just washing his face and hands before stripping down and crawling into bed. Light was filtering in underneath the balcony door into the hallway, Dante must have still been up. He crept to and from the bathroom, all but collapsing onto the bed.

Never again. He was never sneaking out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Divine Comedy references in one chapter? Its more likely than you think! My translated copy of la Divina Commedia is absolutely my pride and joy, so you can probably expect more!


	11. Leaving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long wait for the update? Dep, you're rubbish! :0

Did Dante know that there were different places available to sit in his building? When Nero ventured downstairs the next day the hunter was in the exact same position that he’d left him in before hopping out the window for his little adventure, and the same position he assumed he was in when he’d slunk back.

“Look who finally decided to make an appearance! Guessing you slept okay, kid.”

“Yeah, what time is it?”

“Just turned twelve.”

“What?!” He’d slept in till midday?

“It’s no problem, I ain’t got much planned.” _Good - I would've slept through it anyway_. Nero padded over to the little kitchen to fix himself some breakfast – or lunch, he supposed. “Y’know,” Dante’s voice trailed in after him, “the weirdest thing happened this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh, got a call from Morrison last night about some suspected demon activity in a park further out of the city.” The teen froze while reaching for a bowl. It was a good thing Dante couldn’t see him clearly panicking. “Decided I would go check it out while you were sleeping, if it turned up anything you could come with.”

“Did you? Uh, turn up anything?” Nero tried his best to sound nonchalant.

“Well, that’s the weird part. When I got there the thing was already dead! Had to have been strong ‘cause I could still smell it, and the grass was all torn up like there had been a huge scuffle.”

“Oh…that _is_ weird.” _Fuck fuck fuck!_ Dante appeared in the doorway, leaning on the frame and crossing his arms.

“Freaky, right? I know for a fact that it wasn’t another hunter, else I wouldn’t’ve got the call in the first place. Now what do you think could’ve taken down a demon of that size in Red Grave?”

“…Another demon?” he posed, hating the fact that it felt like he was being caged into the kitchen. Breaking curfew was a grievous offence at the orphanage, one he frequently committed and got disciplined for. It was many years later now, in a different place and with a vastly different person, but that didn't stop the irrational looming unease of another punishment. Being beaten as a child tended to do that to someone.

“Maybe. Just thought you might know, seeing as you went out last night.”

Well. Fuck.

“I…am _so_ sorry…” Nero began, face flushing red. “I-I didn’t mean – it’s not-”

“HA, the look on your face!” the hunter cackled, clapping his hands. “Don’t freak out, I’m just messing with ya!” The tension in his gut morphed into a slightly bewildered confusion.

“What?”

“You can come and go when you like, this ain’t boarding school!” 

“You’re not…you don’t care?”

“No!” Dante sounded surprised that Nero would think he did. “Kid, if you wanna go somewhere in the middle of the night that’s your business!”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“For?”

“I didn’t wanna lie – I guess I’m just used to people telling me not to do shit all the time.”

“You know what I’ve learnt about you?” the red devil pointed at him playfully. “You worry way too much.” Nero rubbed his nose, turning to continue shaking cereal into his bowl.

_‘Some might say Dante doesn’t worry enough.’_

“Huh. So, if I’d said I wanted to go out on my own at night you really would’ve been cool with it?”

“It seems like the kind of thing a responsible adult would say no to; but lucky for us I never claimed to be one of those.” Dante left the doorway to saunter back to his desk, the teen poking his head into the main room after him.

“Was I really that obvious when I left?” he asked a little sheepishly.

“Thought I could feel a little devil hoofin’ it away from the office.” A magazine found its way into the hunter’s hands, and he kicked back in what Nero was quickly coming to associate as his default state of reclination. “I _am_ interested to hear about that demon, though. Don’t pull that face, I already know it was you Mr. Sneaky Slayer.” _Damn, why does Dante have to know everything all the time!_ Assuming it was still a secret, he couldn’t tell him why he’d gone out in the first place.

“That…was kind of an accident. I was just walking around, and I felt it there.” That wasn’t _entirely_ a lie. “Then I killed it.”

“Wow, what a story,” Dante deadpanned. Nero had to smile; he was right, that was probably the least exciting way he could have recounted the experience. No one ever bothered to ask how his hunts - or anything for that matter - went (aside from Kyrie), so he never had to paint much of a picture before. He ducked back into the kitchen.

_‘It may be pertinent to reveal the identity of the demon to Dante, Nero.’_

“Why?” he whispered as quietly as possible. Vergil didn’t respond, so he fumbled with the cupboards as loudly as he could to cover the sound of his next question. “What was it called again?”

 _‘Draghignazzo.’_ He couldn’t think of a way to slip _that_ into casual conversation right then and there. _Why can’t demons have normal names? Like…Steve? Or Karl?_

“I’ll tell him when I give him the weapon.”

 _‘As you wish.’_ The phone chimed from the other room, silenced by a dull thump and the hunter’s announcement of,

“Devil May Cry.” Another job. Nero would need some caffeine before they headed out, he was feeling the after effect of using the Yamato so much yesterday. The day after the Hellgate incident he was barely able to get out of bed (but that may have just been due to his grief). “Mh-hm. Sure thing lil’ missy – Nero!” He popped his head out into the office space again. Dante held up the handset and gave it a wiggle. “Got a caller.”

 _Kyrie!_ Cereal forgotten, he rushed over to the phone and replaced Dante in the relinquished chair.

“Hey Kyrie!”

“Oh Nero, I’m glad you’re alright. You are, aren’t you? You didn’t call last night; I was getting worried.” _Oh fuck!_ How could he have forgotten?! He’d _promised_ he would call each night, and by the second night it had already slipped his mind? Trying to act like he wasn’t about to sneak out yesterday evening had completely taken up space in his head.

“Shit! I’m so sorry Kyrie, I-I guess last night was kinda hectic.” Dante snorted from the chesterfield. _Yeah, and you don’t know the half of it._

“That’s perfectly alright, as long as you’re having fun and staying out of trouble!”

“Staying out of trouble,” he repeated dryly, sharing a look with the hunter. Even Vergil had a little amused huff to offer. The red devil was smirking as always, but _he_ didn’t know about the search through the spooky old house and the sort-of-accidental punching the living daylights out of a human teenager. At least he hadn’t used his Bringer. “Erm – what about you? Are you okay?”

“Oh yes,” she chimed, launching into a monologue about her efforts working alongside the citizens rebuilding Fortuna, making them all sound so caring and polite in a way he’d never be able to experience. The garden was in full bloom, the damaged thoroughfares were being recobbled, the ferry was docking much more frequently as the number of imports for the clean-up rose. It sounded like she was surrounded by good, supportive company, which Nero was endlessly grateful for in his absence. “What are things like in the city?”

“Different,” he admitted. Somehow he got the feeling his sister would despise the mainland. “So different. It gets so busy here like you wouldn’t believe, and the people are…” Where did he even begin? “Not Fortunian.”

“No one has said anything about your arm, have they?” Nero tensed up, aware that Dante must be able to hear Kyrie down the receiver, talking to him like a little kid getting bullied at infant school.

“No, I-I don’t think anyone’s even noticed it.”

“Good. Well I should get going, I promised Carmen I’d have lunch with her. Take care, I hope we see each other again soon!”

“Same here. See ya Kyrie.” Nero pushed the handset onto the weighted cradle, and it gave a _ding_. _“I hope we see each other again soon!”_ She was missing him. He could hardly bear to think about her returning home to an empty house in the evenings.

“Nice girl,” Dante remarked.

“Yeah, she’s an angel.”

“So, were you adopted?...” The teen cast him a puzzled look. What did that have to do with anything? “Don’t mean to pry, only, you said she was your sister, right? I saw you with her that day in the Cathedral, she didn’t much look like you. Unless that was a different girl; your girlfriend?” he teased. Nero rolled his eyes.

“No, that was her. Her parents took me in when I was little.”

“Uh-huh.” Thinking that was the end of it, the teen busied himself with finally preparing his meal, helping himself to the desk chair again. “Never met your real parents?” _Where’s all this coming from? This must be payback for bringing up his mom._

“Nope.” No one on Fortuna had ever breathed a word about _mother_ or _father_ to him; it was like he really had been dropped there by the stork. Or perhaps in his case, the pyrobat. “I dunno if they ever even existed.” The statement wasn’t given much acknowledgement, aside from a small nod.

Why was Dante asking? Was he…trying to allude to something? _“It’s gotta stay in the family.”_ Nero felt his heartbeat kick up, the next gulp of cereal sticking in his throat. He could ask. He could ask and have answers right now, if he was brave enough to do it.

But he wasn’t. The lifelong questions at the tip of his tongue stayed put. He sat, mute, staring into his bowl.

///

Closing the door on the spare room, his bag packed and ready to go, left Nero with a strange, hollow feeling. Who knew when he’d see the little room again? The four nights he’d slept there felt like so long and not long enough all at once. He’d left another envelope of money on the pillow, the one given from Morrison to Dante for defeating the eel demon, and from Dante to Nero for actually defeating the eel demon. Though he tried his hardest to refuse it, not wanting to cheat the hunter out of even more of his livelihood, he had ultimately failed. But two could play at that game. If Dante wouldn’t take it then he’d force it on him by “forgetting” it there.

Said red devil was waiting by the door downstairs, hand held out to receive some car keys from Lady, who was dangling them above his palm and warning him on the consequences of damaging her vehicle in any way. He kept trying to grasp them and talk over her, only to have her snatch them away. When the keys were finally relinquished they were out the door, Nero sparing one last look to the office and the building’s brick façade.

The hunter had to readjust his seat in the little car, cranking it so far out that it was practically touching the back seats. Lady waved them off, helping herself to Dante’s motorbike with a wicked grin, in what was no doubt a compromise in the car borrowing arrangement.

And, just like that, Nero had left Red Grave city. Balmy air tousled his hair from his cracked window, bringing the smells of the countryside in with it; fields of crops, wet greenery of the woods, manure from livestock. Although he knew Dante’s sense of smell was more acute than his own he never got a complaint about the window. One must get used to heightened senses when they’ve lived with them for as long as the hunter had.

The trip to the port city flew by, especially with the way that Dante drove like a – no pun intended – bat outta Hell. Pulling into the car park, Nero felt his mood drop. He hadn’t expected to be so melancholy about leaving.

Dante unfolded himself from the vehicle, craning his neck to find _The Fortune_ at dock.

“That’s yours.”

“Yep,” Nero mumbled, still slouching in his seat.

“I think you still have a while before you’re due.” The hunter reached into his coat and pulled out an honest-to-Sparda _pocket watch_ , Nero staring at him like he’d grown a second head. If he _had_ grown a second head it probably would’ve startled him less. A pocket watch? Dante was consistently the most bizarre individual he’d ever met. “Mh-hm. We got time to get some food if you want.”

They went to the same place that the hunter had been distracted by when Nero had first arrived on the mainland, and parked themselves on a bench outside the tourist services hut to watch _The Fortune_ loading cargo. Each crate that was secured brought him that much closer to having to leave. Even a blind man could see how sullen he was, chewing his shortbread solemnly.

“Guess I better go,” he announced as the last load was being craned on. They stood in unison, and Dante turned to him with a smile.

“Well I gotta say, it’s been a breeze havin’ ya, kid. Who knew little punks could have such good manners?”

“I tried to go easy on you, too much excitement’s bad for the elderly heart.”

“Funny.” The hunter crossed his arms, looking over to the ship. “Y’know…I plan on stomping devils till my last, but I’m not gonna be cruising around forever – I don’t think – and I can’t go out without making sure the world’s well protected, can I? I’ve been meaning to find someone to take on. An apprentice, of sorts.” Nero’s head snapped toward him. _Does he mean –_ he couldn’t possibly -

“Oh yeah?” the teen asked remarkably evenly.

“Yup. And I figured I wouldn’t find a human around here that can kick ass quite so well as you, plus we already know each other, so…how ‘bout it?” Nero was ready to short circuit. Dante wanted him to be his apprentice. He struggled to suppress the grin threatening to split his face, his mind helpfully glossing over the fact that the hunter had called him inhuman again for the moment.

“Your apprentice? I dunno…” he waffled facetiously.

“No serious commitment kid, you know me. Just come over whenever you feel, and I’ll show you the tricks of the trade.”

“…Alright, deal.” Nero stuck his Bringer out and they shook on it. The crew of _The Fortune_ called to one another from the jetty, ready to board.

“Looks like you’re up. You better come back to Red Grave soon, okay?”

“Thanks, Dante. For letting me stay, and stuff.”

“No problem.” The hybrid was about to take off, before he abruptly remembering something.

“Wait -” he turned his focus inward, zeroing in on the last object he’d absorbed. The Devil Arm materialised in his hand, bludgeon swinging slightly on its chain. “Here. To add to your collection.”

“What’s this for?” Dante raised a brow at him.

“For your collection.” The hunter made no move to grab it, so he held it out further. “It’s yours, take it.”

“Where’d you get this?”

“From that demon in the park.”

“Then it’s yours.”

“No.” Why was it so _hard_ to get Dante to accept shit? Nero pushed the flail into his chest and released it, forcing the red devil to catch it lest it clatter to the floor. “Will you just take it? I want you to have it, really.”

The hunter turned the handle over in his hands, inspecting the weapon. Then he swung it in a series of rapid twirls that made it look like he’d been using the flail his whole life. Could Dante just pick up any weapon and do that? If he was going to train under him would _he_ be able to do that as well?

“If you insist…thank you, Nero. It got a name?”

“Uh, it’s Dragon something.”

_‘Draghignazzo.’_

“Drag-in-yatso.” Dante’s eyes flickered up to him for a fraction of a second.

“Is that so. Well,” the flail was rested on his shoulder, the spiked bludgeon bumping harmlessly on his leather coat, “You better run along before they leave you behind.”

“Bye Dante.”

“Catch ya later, kid.” Nero trotted along the jetty to the ship’s ramp, digging his ticket out. As he was ushered in he gave one last look at the mainland, Dante saluting him from his spot by the bench.

///

Fortuna was a bittersweet sight. There was no excited pacing to be let off the boat this time. Thankfully, a very welcome face was there to greet him at the harbour.

“Nero!”

“Kyrie!” The siblings bounded up to wrap each other up in an embrace. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too! How was your stay? Did you get sick on the boat ride? Come on, I’ve got cookies cooling in the kitchen – I thought I’d make them for you special, you haven’t had them in a while!”

“Uh, yeah…” He could still taste the biscuit he’d had earlier, and practically hear Vergil complaining about his suffering diet. _What’s next, pizza for dinner?_ “Wait, I got something for you.” Nero took his pack off and dug around for her gift.

“A present? Aw, you don’t have to give it to me now-”

“I want you to see it, I think you’ll like it.” Locating the plastic bag he felt his way inside, plucking out the teddy bear to present it to his sister. “Ta da!”

Kyrie squealed like he’d just handed her a kitten in a bonnet, crushing the teddy against her chest.

“Oh, Nero I love it, I love it, I _love_ it!” _Nailed it_. They walked side by side back to the house, Nero ignoring the daggers being glared his way by the Fortunians they passed (they were obviously very glad to have him back) and focussing on Kyrie fussing with her teddy’s little ears and shirt. She was starting to make him wish he’d bought one for himself too.

As soon as he stepped through the door he could smell the cookies, kicking his shoes off and making a beeline for the kitchen. Kyrie bustled in shortly after, setting her teddy down on the telephone chair. “I’ve got to grab my thread; I promised the tailors that I would be there as soon I could.” The Hellgate incident had left many of the residents with a shortage of clothes when their homes were destroyed; his sister was volunteering as a seamstress while the demand for garments was high.

“‘Kay,” Nero managed through a huge mouthful of her baking. And not Kyrie _or_ Vergil reminding him to watch his manners? He really was getting special treatment! “Fanks fo muh cookis.”

“I’ll be back this afternoon, stay out of trouble!” Kyrie disappeared down the hall, the door clicking shut behind her.

_‘I think you’ve spat out more than you’ve managed to eat.’_

“Wotevah.” Scooping up a few more for good measure, the hybrid trotted up to his room. It was exactly as he left it, of course. It hadn’t changed much for all the years he’d slept there, a constant throughout all that time, and yet he didn’t get a sense of homesick relief when he took it all in…

_‘Something amiss?’_

“No. Just weird to be back, I guess. It looks like I never even left.”

_‘Missing Red Grave already?’_

“I just got out of Red Grave.” Nero swung his backpack down and plonked himself on his wide, soft bed. That was one thing he was grateful for on Fortuna at least; his big comfy bed. “I gotta go back soon anyway, now that I’m Dante’s apprentice.” Vergil hadn’t given his opinion on the subject yet, and he was keen to hear it.

 _'I've yet to see just how effective his tutelage is...No doubt it will be unorthodox and absurd...but, you couldn’t ask for a better mentor when it comes to the slaying of demons.’_ Hearing his devil give it the green light lifted a weight that he hadn’t even realised was there.

“What about you?” Nero was only teasing, but his devil _was_ supposed to be teaching him to wield the Yamato.

_‘Aside from me of course, but I feel that goes without saying.’_

“Heheh.” With the Yamato in mind, he remembered the books that they’d collected from the derelict house. Having hid them in his pack as soon as he’d got back to Devil May Cry, he hadn’t yet had a chance to inspect them properly.

Nero fished the books out of their side pocket gently, placing them on his bedside table. _1400_ was a hardback of deep green cloth, title tooled with gold leaf on the front. The teen picked it up to flip to the first page. On the inside of the first board, scrawled in spidery but elegant cursive, was Vergil’s name. He ran his fingers over the letters lightly, almost able to feel the indent the pen had left behind.

 _‘I haven’t seen this book in many years,’_ the demon himself confessed, an almost wistful tone to his voice.

“How long?”

 _‘Remind me what year it is.’_ Nero relayed the date, and Vergil clicked his tongue with a muttered, _‘Am I really so old? It would be…twenty-eight years, now.’_

“That _is_ a long time. I’m surprised you even remembered where you left it.” He turned the page, dry and stiff and yellow and so musty.

 _‘The translation is quite literal at times,’_ Vergil warned. _‘I can help you make sense of it.’_ Nero gave a hum and scanned the first paragraph of the introduction. A history lesson on the origin and spread of the discipline, as well as a brief description of the technique and the blades it employs. Before he knew it he’d read two pages, having only intended to read the one paragraph. _Huh. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all._

“Can we go out and practice this now, or do I have to read more?”

_‘You can start now if you want.’_

“Sweet.” He jumped up from his perch on the bed and scampered through the house, down the stairs to the utility cupboard in the kitchen. There Nero swiped up an old broom, twisting and yanking the handle out of the brush-head.

_‘Nero, what are you-’_

“Practise stick,” the teen announced. If he only used Yamato while practising it would take forever for his skill to progress, and he was determined to learn and improve. “If it’s all about form I should be able to train with this, right?” Vergil sighed; they both knew he’d already spoken about this. And yet -

 _‘…I suppose…when it comes to training your posture, you can use the stick,’_ he acquiesced. _‘You can begin in your room, if you find a mirror.’_

“Yes! Wait, why the mirror?”

_‘So that I might observe you.’_

“I – h-how do you see?” A rather disturbing conclusion washed over him then, like a cold, cresting wave. “Do you see what I see?!”

 _‘How did you believe me to view your surroundings?’_ The wave swiftly became searing hot humiliation, burning his skin. Vergil had really been sharing his eyes this whole time? How can that be when he seems to see so much more that Nero? That meant he’d seen everything Nero cast his eyes on for the past seven months of their acquaintance. Each time he looked at his reflection. Every time he’d looked at himself naked…That one time Dante had taken off his coat and he’d caught himself scanning over certain parts of him -

“Why didn’t you say something before?!” Full blown, caught-red-handed panic seized his voice.

 _‘Would you have preferred me to tell you while you were bathing?’_ Nero groaned and dug the heels of his palms into his traitorous eyes. This was just too much. If Sparda really could strike people down for being unfaithful, _please_ let him experience it now.

“Literally… _nothing_ is private!”

_‘Yes, well, this is our lot in life as it stands.’_

“At least it’s not all the time while you sleep.”

 _‘-Yes.’_ The confirmation was alarmingly stilted, and came after an almost imperceptible pause.

“You _do_ sleep,” Nero gripped onto his demonic wrist tightly, as though he could strangle the life out of it, “you do go to sleep Vergil. Tell me you have to sleep!” If Vergil really never slept then he was privy to everything. All the _things_ Nero did in the night when he thought he had privacy. Suddenly he didn’t care if the demon saw him naked, as long as he hadn’t also seen (or heard) him jerking off.

 _‘Yes,’_ his devil insisted more firmly. _‘Forget about the matter Nero, I thought you wanted to train?’_

The attempt at deflection was completely transparent, but the teen was willing to play along this time. The sooner he was distracted from the fact that his companion may or may not be present when he masturbates the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a little more dialogue heavy than action-y. I decided to end it there in a sort of weird place because the chapter would've gotten so long otherwise, and who knows how much time it would've taken to update!
> 
> Please let me know what you think, and thank you all for the support! <3


	12. A New Curriculum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shortish chapter ft. some training from Master Vergil!
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and such, it helps gimme motivation and lets me know what ya'll think so far! <3

The full length, free standing mirror in the master bathroom would do perfectly for the training session; although it was awkward work to manoeuvre the slab of polished silver, glass, and solid oak through doorways and up the stairs without banging it against the walls. Once safely in his room, Nero heaved his bed out of the way to give him more space and adjusted the angle of the mirror. Now that he knew his vision was a live broadcast he almost didn’t want to look at his reflection. He stepped back to get into place, catching his eyes in the mirror and waving.

“Hi.”

 _‘Hello Nero.’_ Like the flick of a switch, his devil went from _humour Nero_ mode to _teacher_ mode in an instant. _‘First position. Squat down on your haunches and touch one knee to the floor.’_ The teen did as instructed, looking at his handiwork so Vergil could see. _‘Have your knees at more of an angle – yes, that’s right. Keep your toes planted.’_

“…How is this practical?” If a demon were tearing toward him he’d rather not be on the floor halfway to toppling over.

_‘It’s not. But it’s a part of the discipline so you will learn it. Now, are you going to be using your left hand or your right?’_

“Right.” His Bringer gave the thumbs-up.

_‘Then hold the stick at your left hip. This is why you need the Yamato Nero, if you want to learn to draw and cut you need the blade and the sheath.’_

“I’ll just pretend for now.” Surely it wouldn’t hinder his learning that much.

 _‘Hmph, in that case give me your best draw while you jump to your feet. Keep your knees bent.’_ Nero readjusted his hold on the broomstick and swept it out in an arc, bouncing up.

“Like that?”

_‘I’m sure that was beautiful Nero, but I didn’t see it.’_

“Oh yeah.” This was going to take a lot of getting used to. The mirror was moved to a better spot and Vergil made him repeat the action numerous times until Nero thought it was just getting unnecessary. “I think I got it. Can we get to the next one?”

_‘Don't get impatient. Ideally you would practice each movement and technique every day for several years before you become proficient enough to use them.’_

“Are you fucking with me? Are you seriously saying that you did this every day for years?”

_‘I am absolutely serious. This is how I learnt, and this is how you will learn.’_

“How long did it take you?”

_‘My circumstances were…not like yours. But it took over a decade of combat and practice until I could be considered an adept swordsman.’_

“A decade…” Nero grumbled. _I wanted this_ , he reminded himself. _I owe it to Dante and his brother to get this right. I’ll do it, for them and the Yamato._

That was how they spent the day, running through the basic forms continuously to introduce them to Nero. He eventually started to complain that his legs were burning from all the low crouching, and Vergil would tell him that, if he couldn’t handle it, his legs were too weak. That shut him up. For a while. “My knees are gonna be paste if I gotta do this for ten years.” Nero swung the broom handle down with two hands, now a lot less conscious of watching his own reflection.

_‘Straighten your back. It’s not your knees that are the problem; it’s your muscles.’_

“Oh, thanks!”

_‘It’s something that will improve if you stick to this routine.’_

“It better, my thighs are fucki-”

“Nero?” The door to his bedroom clicked open, and Kyrie poked her head in to find her brother squatting in the middle of his rearranged room with a wooden stick in front of a mirror. He hadn’t even noticed her come back from the tailor’s, too engrossed in his lesson.

“Um. Yeah?”

“…Who were you talking to?”

“…Just, y’know, myself.”

“Okay…uh, what are you doing?”

“Practising.”

“Alright. Well. Dinner won’t be long.” She retreated quickly, footsteps pattering back down the hall. Nero rocked backward onto his butt with a sigh. What the Hell must that have looked like? _You’d think I’d be used to looking like a fucking goon in front of her by now._

_‘That’s enough for today. You did well.’_

“Really?” Nero was surprised, but brightened up at the kudos. “But you kept correcting me like every other second.”

 _‘It was your first lesson, you’ve been at it for hours and you cannot even see your instructor. You did remarkably well.’_ The young hybrid basked in his teacher’s praise, warming him just as much as any sunbeam. If every session ended like this - without Kyrie barging in - then the training would fly by.

///

After whacking his bedroom walls and furniture multiple times, it became apparent that a change in location was necessary. Somewhere with room, somewhere private, and somewhere with mirrors – Nero knew just the candidate.

Fortuna Castle had been avoided altogether by the Order since the Hellgate incident. The demons had cleared out, and the weather had returned to normal. Against the backdrop of the Lamina Range the castle was beautiful, and wandering the grand halls was a lot less stressful when the fate of the island (and the world) wasn’t on Nero’s shoulders. All in all, it was actually a nice get-away for the teen. No one would disturb him, and the enormous, ornate mirrors (the ones he hadn’t previously smashed) made practice a lot easier.

Two weeks since starting the training and Vergil was still pleased with Nero’s progress. There were a few instances when they got frustrated with one another, Nero when Vergil would give confusing instructions and Vergil when Nero wouldn’t follow them or correct his posture, but for the most part it was plain sailing.

Currently Nero had summoned Yamato in her saya for drawing practice. Vergil wasn’t any less thorough when the Yamato was involved, even though their time with her was limited. On that note, Nero thought he was getting better demonic stamina; he called her forward frequently and was able to hold her for slightly longer, but that may just be because they weren’t in an energy draining fight. Or maybe she liked that he was learning to use her correctly?

 _‘Try again.’_ Yamato was laid on the floor in front of the hybrid, sat on his haunches. Whenever his grasp on her wasn’t adequate enough for the demon tutor he was made to put her down and start from scratch. Trying not to overthink it, he picked her up and held her at the ready by his left hip. _‘Cutting edge up.’_

“Shit.” He twirled her around in his grip. _Stop with that same fucking mistake!_

 _‘_ _Hand higher.’_ Nero crawled his fingers closer to the tsuba. That was the part he disliked the most: getting his digits up close and personal with the Slice Zone. Sure, it made it easier to draw the very long sword from the very long scabbard, but what about his fingers? He knew how easily Yamato cut flesh.

As if he’d willed the bad luck into existence, he got a nasty shock after his devil’s next command of, _‘Draw.’_ The silvery blade flashed out, splashing a few flecks of blood onto the mirror propped against the wall. Nero narrowed his eyes at it, confused. Until he felt a biting pain lance through his hand. The saya dropped from his hold as his thumb fell limp, hanging from the rest of his hand by a literal thread. Yamato had sliced the junction between his thumb and forefinger.

“FUCK!” Nero dug his claws into his human forearm in a panic, with no clue what to do about his digit twisting and dangling by a string of skin. Blood didn’t just leak from the wound, it _spurted_ , soaking into the antique rug underneath him in time with his racing heart. “Fuck! Fuck, what do I do?”

_‘Put it back on.’_

“PUT IT BACK ON?!” The teen made an agonised sound, the pain getting sharper with each heartbeat.

 _‘Hold your thumb back into position, Nero.’_ With a shaking hand, he pinched his near-severed and nerveless thumb between his talons, cringing at the foreign sensation (or lack of). Then, steeling himself, he pressed it back into place. A growl tore out of his throat as he held slit flesh and bone against itself, screwing his eyes shut.

Gradually the pain plateaued and started to fade. Feeling returned to his thumb, and he dared to take another look. It was back to normal. There wasn’t a single mark to indicate there had been any damage at all, aside from smudges of slowly evaporating blood.

“That’s creepy,” the hybrid breathed.

_‘You’ve healed from worse.’_

“Nothing’s ever been cut _off_ before.” Wiping his healed hand clean on his shirt, he got up to retrieve the forgotten Yamato.

 _‘Now you have an opportunity to practice flicking off the blood.’ Ah yes, every fighter’s proudest moment – cleaning their own blood off their weapon_. Nero gave the katana a quick snap, raining a few more deep red spots on the rug. It wouldn’t stain; his blood would soon be gone. _‘I see that face, Nero,’_ Vergil sing-songed when they caught his reflection. _‘Don’t be so discouraged by one mistake.’ One mistake. He makes it sound like obliterating my hand is nothing._

“If I were… _normal,_ my training would be over. I wouldn’t be able to hold anything without a thumb.”

 _‘But you’re not. And neither is Yamato. A normal blade gives a light cut where she will eviscerate. If anything, this is a positive experience; you’ve learnt more about one another’s limits and ability. You and your sword must become one when you fight.’_ Only Vergil could spin dismemberment into a positive experience.

“Why would she wanna be one with this idiot when she used to belong to a Son of Sparda?” Whatever degree of sentience the Yamato possessed Nero was certain she must have been at least somewhat insulted when Dante gave her away to him. Vergil sighed.

_‘“Since Eve first chose her hellfire spark” …Nero, if she couldn’t feel the potential inside you, why would she have come to you? Why would you have been able to restore her?’_

“Dunno,” the hybrid mumbled stubbornly, poking the remains of a bloodstain with the toe of his boot. Logically he knew Vergil was trying to bolster his spirit, but when it came to highlighting his fluctuating insecurity it always felt like a scolding; especially with the exasperated tone his devil added to it.

They watched the candlelight play on the ripples of the katana’s blade in silence.

 _‘I’ve lost a finger before,’_ Vergil declared suddenly.

“Really?” Nero drawled. Demons probably lost all kinds of shit during their turbulent lives, but it wasn’t until the word passed his lips that he realised he must be referring to a sword-related accident of his own. It wasn’t often that his demon admitted to mistakes, or told him about his past.

_‘I was given my first sword at the age of five. I’m sure you can imagine how that went.’_

“So, you’re comparing me to a little kid?”

_‘There is just no pleasing you when you’re sulking, is there?’_

“I am not sulking!”

 _‘Hm,_ very _convincing.’_

“Shut up!” Nero grumbled, but his mood soared when he heard Vergil chuckle. Usually his laughs were quiet and breathy, so it made the teen’s chest swell when he heard a rare one with more body to it.

 _‘Alright, sheathe Yamato and try again.’_ Nero may have winced slightly when he drew, but this time there were no injuries. _‘Don’t let your hand slip from now on or you’ll lose another finger.’_

“Yeah – got it.” _Do_ not _plan on doing that again._

It was dusk by the time Nero arrived back at the house. Kyrie was pottering around the kitchen, playing a classical song on the turntable and signing along. By the smell of it she was most definitely cooking fish for dinner.

“I’m home!” he announced. The singing stopped, and she emerged into the hall holding an oily spatula.

“There you are! Before I forget, Dante called for you earlier. He didn’t say what for, I told him you were out and that you’d call him back.”

“Thanks Kyrie.” Nero hadn’t heard from the hunter since he’d returned to Fortuna. A few times he’d thought about calling him to see what was up, but he could never convince himself to do it. Receiving calls he was ok with, but making them required him to call for a reason, and his was just to say _hey you alright?_ That would be a very brief conversation; Dante kept it shorter and sweeter on the phone than in person, and Nero could barely talk at all.

Instead of having to search through the phonebook, the hunter’s number and extension were scrawled on their own slip of paper, pinned under a vase of flowers. He didn’t dial to ring the last caller, that would probably just put him through to Kyrie’s friend Carmen – and that was absolute nightmare fuel that no demon could hope to match.

The ringback tone didn’t induce a cold sweat the way it used to. It cut off with a clatter, no doubt red devil had kicked it off of the cradle again, and he was greeted with,

“Devil May Cry.”

“Hi, it’s me. Uh, Nero.”

“Hey kid!”

“You called?”

“Yep. I wanted to ask how quick you think you can get here?”

“Something wrong?” The teen gripped the arm of the chair tightly. Was there trouble, did Dante need help? If so, why did he sound so calm? Why was he chewing pizza loudly down the phone? (Honestly his demeanour wasn’t a good indicator of the severity of a situation; he was laughing and joking his way through the open Hellgates on Fortuna).

“It’s not an emergency, cool your jets! I have a job I wanted to bring you in on, sounds bigger than the other one I threw at you. Maybe not as big as the one you did on your own, but that kinda thing doesn’t happen every day, so.” Nero settled more comfortably on the telephone chair. Now this, he could get into. “Anyway, it’s not urgent so I figured it could wait for you to show up and tag along. How ‘bout it?”

“It sounds…like I’ll see you tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot happens in this one I guess, sorry!


	13. Gatehouse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, that was a much longer wait for a chapter this time! You know how it is with errands getting in the way.
> 
> Thanks for being patient with me! <3

The next day found Nero back aboard _The Fortune_ , once again as the only passenger. With his backpack stuffed to capacity and Red Queen and Blue Rose on his person, he and his demon set out for the mainland. Standing at the rail, wind ruffling his platinum white hair and heading toward a fight with a devil, he felt electrified. A pod of dolphins following alongside the ship kept him entertained for most of the journey, breaching through the wake with a little calf amongst them. They moved along as _The Fortune_ neared the port, leaving Nero to readjust the awkward holstering of Red Queen under his backpack and make his way to the exit.

Things were much the same at the dock as the first time he’d visited, except this time the sudden assault on his heightened senses was far less disorientating. He could feel Dante nearby, that intangible sixth sense warning him of the proximity to a demon, albeit a familiar one. A sharp whistle from the car park did the rest of the work in leading him straight to the hunter, leaning against Lady’s small car.

“Hey Dante.”

“Good to see ya kid. Hope you had your Weetabix this morning, ‘cause we’re going straight to the job from here.” The red devil rocked the entire vehicle when he opened the driver’s-side door, squeezing himself back in. Nero slid Red Queen into the back seats to rest diagonally across with Rebellion and took to the passenger seat.

“Fine by me.” Dante managed not to grind the clutch as he pulled out of the lot. “What’s the job?”

“Forest manager of some woodland outside the city keeps finding trees ripped up and snapped – says it hasn’t been done by tools, and that there are ‘strange tracks’ around the broken trees. I’m no forester, but that sounds a little suspicious.” Whatever it was had to be bigger than the pack of devils they dealt with before if it was uprooting trees. _Good. I'm itching for a fight._

The drive to the woodland took them along numerous narrow, scenic roads. A few times Dante had to reverse on the single-file track to let another car or tractor pass – for someone who grated the gearbox when Nero first took a trip with him, the hunter was supremely talented at reversing into tight laybys without checking any of his mirrors. As they got closer there were less people on the road, and by the time they got there it was apparent why. Over the sign at the entrance was a tarpaulin banner that read ‘PARK CLOSED DUE TO FOREST MAINTAINANCE CONCERNS’.

“Jump out here and open the gate. The client said he’ll be at the gatehouse further along.”

Nero got out to let the car through, keeping his head up and his senses keen. They were at the edge of the enclosed wood, but he may be able to pick up on something already. The air was heavy with the pressure of impending rain and thick with the smell and sound of the forest. He closed the gate behind them, and the vehicle rolled on, tires grating over coarse sand gritting the track ahead.

The road sloped down and branched off ahead, the fork opposite the ‘ALL VISITORS THIS WAY’ sign leading to the gatehouse. A stone archway straddled the road, attaching the round, turreted building at its side. There was a very clear private property sign on the archway.

Before Dante could even kill the engine there was someone emerging from the gatehouse, flagging them down (needlessly, seeing as they were the only people there). Dante got out to greet him, the approaching man cranking his neck back in order to make eye contact with the towering devil.

“You must be the hunters!” The men shook hands, the forester visibly relieved to see them.

“Yep, that’s us. Mr. Harvey?”

“Yes, yes. Thank you so much for coming – go on through and park the car back there, behind mine.” Dante manoeuvred Lady’s coupe through the arch and around behind the gatehouse to where a muddy Land Rover Defender was waiting. He signalled Nero to get out the car with him. “There’s been something of a development,” Mr. Harvey admitted. “I took your advice and stayed out of the wood since yesterday, but I did spot something driving from the maintenance shed to here this morning. There was a dead deer, hanging...about fifteen foot up a tree.”

“Unless the city zoo released any leopards recently, I’d say you found a good place to start lookin’ for this thing. Point us in the right direction.”

“Absolutely – do you need to borrow my car? Four-wheel drive is a must; this woodland is part of the estate, not the Park, so it’s quite…untamed, out there. Bumpy tracks and zero paths through the woodland itself.”

“Thanks, but we’ll get there on foot. It’ll be easier.”

“Are you sure? Well in that case, good luck.” The weapons were collected and holstered while Mr. Harvey described their directions to the carcass, and the area of the broken trees. Dante and his new apprentice forged on without further ado, leaving the gatehouse behind and trudging along the dirt road that was quickly enveloped by trees. Wind rustling the leaves above was the only sound aside from their footsteps; there wasn't a single bird call from the forest. Nero hadn't noticed at first, but once he did he found it slightly unnerving. Even Mitis Forest had animals making noise during the demon outbreak.

“You don’t talk to strangers much, do you?”

“Should I have said something?” It didn’t seem like he needed to, Dante had it under control.

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Watch me for now and you’ll learn all about handling clients. Sometimes that’s the hardest part.”

“I can see that.” He’d much rather be faced by a horde of demons than have to speak to a stranger about them.

“Sounds boring, I know, but it’s also one of the most important parts too. You gotta be confident – what kind of impression are you making as a hunter if you look nervous while you’re talking? Hey, what’s with the glare? I mean in general, not you specifically. And you gotta be able to keep your cool if you’re getting abuse; sounds weird but a lot of people get super angry at ya.”

 _‘I never thought I’d see the day. Dante giving useful advice,’_ Vergil cut in. Nero smiled to himself, but he had to ignore his demon.

“People give _you_ abuse?” Who in their right mind would pit themselves against an absolute statue of a man armed with two guns and a claymore?

“Oh yeah. I’ve had people spit at me, try and hit me, throw things, screech at me like a banshee – you name it. Even had someone puke on me, but that wasn't really their fault.”

“That’s insane, you’re trying to help them!” There’s no way Nero would be able to keep his cool if someone tried to do any of that to him while he was coming to their rescue.

“What can I say? Fear does weird things to people. And some people are just assholes. _But_ , most people are just grateful. For every bad client you’ll get two good ones who thank you so sincerely it’ll make your day.” Dante turned to him with a grin, gesturing for Nero to vault the locked gate they’d come across. As he did, the teen barely caught Vergil muttering something under his breath, only catching the words ‘Dante’ and ‘human’.

Overhead rain clouds were gathering, darkening the way under the thick canopy. A perfectly ominous atmosphere for a demon hunt.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” Nero grimaced at him; Dante smirked back. “Okay, sorry.”

“I'm not trying to be nosy, but...how come you became a demon hunter if you’re a demon too? Why’d you come to the human world?”

“Ah. Well, you’re only half right.”

“About what?”

“I’m a cambion.”

“A...?”

“Cambion. Half demon, half human. I was born here.”

“Really? …I did think that picture of your mom looked kinda human-y. Actually, it explains a lot.”

“Like?”

“Why you look and act so human…mostly. I always thought a demon would be sort of out-of-touch.”

_‘Excuse me?’_

“W-with the human world, I mean. Like, knowing how to drive and renting a house and all that.” Dante chuckled.

“Demons aren’t all like the ones we hunt.” _No. Vergil isn’t._

“I guess not. I-” Nero drew to a sudden halt, on high alert. “You hear that?” Branches snapping, large ones, off the beaten track in the forest.

“Yeah, for about the past five minutes. I was waiting for you to pick up on it.”

“Dante!”

“What? How are you gonna learn if I do everything?” The teen groaned and stalked off toward the sound, the thick undergrowth pulling at his feet as soon as he stepped off the road. Above them the heavens opened, swiftly saturating the woodland despite the thick canopy overhead. The already strong scent of the forest became overpowered by mud and wet bark. Dante hovered behind Nero, constantly changing positions, soundless as he swept through the undergrowth. _Looks like he’s gonna leave it to me again._

Occasionally the noise they were following would stop and start again in another place. Nero took care not to stomp too heavily through the greenery, especially as they drew closer. His Bringer grew brighter as he felt the demon’s presence, and he pocketed it so the light wouldn’t give them away in the dim forest. The sound of breaking branches stopped again. “It knows we’re here,” Dante warned him.

“Where is it?” He knew it was there but, assuming it had moved, not the direction.

“Give it a couple seconds.”

“Wha-” as if on Dante’s cue the demon burst from the trees to Nero’s left, letting out an ear-splitting call that he could only liken to a chorus of trumpets. Both hunters leapt out of the way easily, watching the beast skid to a halt, planting its four thick feet, and about-face to address them. It was large, as expected, around ten foot at the withers which rose above its low hanging head. A thicket of long spines ran from its crown along the length of its back, much like a porcupine’s, bristling with the demon’s panting aggression. _This is what we're here for? That eel-y one was way more badass than this._

“SPARDA!” it boomed, its long maw gaping under a boar-like snout. “You repulsive little half-breed!”

 _‘Ciriatto,’_ Vergil hissed. _He knows this thing and this thing knows Dante. Must be a small world in Hell._

“Great, you’re just in time!” Dante exclaimed gladly. “I missed lunch to be here, I was kinda craving some bacon.”

“SILENCE!” Ciriatto howled, pounding at the earth with its forefeet. “You will not walk away from my forest, you _or_ your little hatchling!” With another trumpeting war cry the demon charged, swiping its head side to side to gore them with thick tusks. The duo dodged, and Dante gave Nero a little nudge on the shoulder to spur him on.

“Time to rock kid.” Red Queen was swung over his shoulder planted into the dirt, the propellent igniting despite the rain. “And don’t burn the woods down.”

“Any more advice?”

“Don’t get hit.”

“Thanks.” Nero dashed forward at the same time as Ciriatto’s next charge, launching over the devil’s head in a bid to get behind it. The spines along its back shot out by several feet, Nero barely able to deflect with Red Queen and tumble safely away. _Okay, so I don’t go over it_. Ciriatto rushed him again and the hybrid had to dart out to avoid its head, giving no time to get in close enough to slash the rear.

“What, are you a matador all of a sudden? C’mon, stick it like a pig!”

“Not helping, Dante!”

“STILL YOUR TONGUE YOU MISERABLE VERMIN!” The demon charged at Dante, shouldering and felling a tree in its path, but the hunter was too nimble for it. Nero was hot on its heels, getting a good, deep swipe on its haunch as it spun back around. Ciriatto honked in pain, kicking out with the injured leg. The wiry hair around the wound crisped and burnt way in Red Queen’s wake.

“Ugh, it doesn’t _smell_ like cooking bacon!” the teen jeered, pulling the open collar of his coat in front of his nose. “Blegh!”

“SHUT UP!”

 _‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but perhaps you should take a leaf from Dante’s book. Ciriatto is a particularly prideful creature, as most demons are – if you rile him up, he won’t keep his composure for long.’ No shit,_ Nero thought _. Do I have enough pig jokes though?_

The demon planted its feet in the wet earth, spines along its body shifting to point forward toward the white-haired target. Nero flit from the path of the spines as they shot out, separating from Ciriatto as sharp, thick projectiles. Dante whistled from his new perch up a tree as the undergrowth was shredded by the attack.

“Come on kid, I’m getting a little _boar_ -ed up here!”

“Think I’ll let Dante handle the puns,” Nero decided under the raucous noise of the demon screaming bloody murder at the treed hunter. As it was distracted he ran in to get another strike along the ribs, startled when the creature tipped itself sideways bodily to crush him. He slipped out in time to avoid its massive body, but not its freshly regrown spines. They fired as he retreated, three spearing into his calf and one his forearm. Nero grunted and tried to pull himself free. The spines tugged and burned as they slid out; they were covered in tiny barbs that stopped prey from removing them.

But Nero wasn’t the prey here. He ripped himself away forcefully, seething at the pain. “That’s it.” Yamato was at hand in record time, sheath and all, slashing out of it a split second later to rend a slit in Ciriatto’s side deep enough to separate bone. _Take that you ugly shit._ The demon shuddered soundlessly and fell. _Woah. Was it really that easy?_ Nero stepped back, confused – until he saw Dante at the demon’s head. Or, where the head used to be before the hunter had flashed down and decapitated it from its enormously thick neck in one fell swoop. “What the Hell was that?! Why’d you kill it, I was winning!”

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“What?” Dante turned at the shoulder give him a strange look, the near permanent smile gone from his face. Did he mean the fighting style that Vergil was teaching him? Nero hadn’t even meant to use it; it had been drilled into him so much recently. “I-I was just swinging a sword.” The hunter turned his head away, and when he faced Nero again it was like a switch had been flipped and he was back to normal, smirking.

“Sorry about stealing the kill, I thought piggy was gonna get ya for a second there!”

“I was winning.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t wanna take any chances and lose my apprentice now, do I? Shows over, let’s go get our check.” Dante didn’t give him a chance to reply, swivelling on his heels and making an intuitive beeline back to the dirt road.

“What the fuck was that?” Nero whispered, watching his mentor retreat through the rising ash of Ciriatto’s body. “What’s even the point if he cuts the damn head off himself?”

 _‘How should I know,’_ Vergil voiced blankly.

The teen decided to stick around for a little longer to see if Ciriatto’s corpse would yield any Devil Arm, which it didn’t. Dante wasn’t hard to miss in his red coat up ahead even through the trees and the persisting drizzle. Nero caught up and launched straight into his grievance.

“I’m never gonna improve if you keep pulling the plug like that y’know. You said so yourself like five minutes ago.”

“Alright kid, alright. I guess I just misjudged the situation.”

“Misjudged? You cut its head off at Mach-speed 10!”

“I thought you were gonna get hurt.” Dante held his hands up in apology. “I’ll be more careful next time. You know I don’t do things by half measures.”

“What about cleaning up your pizza boxes?”

“Ha, see that’s technically not a half measure if I don’t do it in the first place.” Damn, Dante always managed to make Nero smile when he was in a mood.

“The next pizza's coming out of your half of the paycheck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed this chapter! I feel like not a lot happens, but its certainly getting closer to more drama...I'm probably making it boring but I want the story to have some meat to it if that makes sense. Gotta feed it in like a drip.
> 
> Thinking about doing a perspective swap next chapter, maybe see some of the story from Dante or Vergil's point of view for a change.
> 
> Let me know what you thought, any feedback is much appreciated! ;)


	14. Silently, Invisibly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a lot of fun writing a perspective change, next chapter will be Dante's POV so we can see what's up with him!
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments, I love to hear from you all and I'm glad you're still enjoying this! <3

Vergil opened his eyes, blinking up at the hazy details of the cave ceiling in the pitch darkness. It was something of a rarity for him to open his eyes nowadays; he spent most of his time in a near hibernation state, concentrating on his connection to Nero. At present the boy was fast asleep, his soft breaths in Vergil’s ear. All the way from Hell he could feel his brother’s presence through Nero, lurking on the ground floor of Devil May Cry.

There would never be a perfect time to get up and hunt, but he’d left it too long to wait for another opportunity. He needed to eat. This had been his longest stretch without sustenance, and he was only getting weaker by the day.

Getting up was easier said than done, however. There was no way of moving that wouldn’t agitate the festering crater in his torso, but over the years he’d gotten better at it. Impatiently he started willing life back into his extremities, flexing his fingers and bearing the burning swell of pins and needles as sensation returned to his legs and feet.

Joints creaked as he bent them, the blistering agony in his chest bloomed as he moved properly for the first time in months. He tried to stifle his grunt of pain as he tensed his stomach to get his feet underneath him, lest he accidentally disturb Nero. The roof of the cave was just tall enough to let him rise to a laboured crouch and stumble down the passageway to the entrance. Here the passage narrowed to a small hole just big enough to let him crawl through. Getting back down after all the effort of standing was a nuisance, but the small entrance had helped in keeping him concealed.

The air outside of his spot could hardly be described as fresh. The corner of the bolgia he was inhabiting was barren. Plains of grass coated in ash carpeted the blood red rock and soil, a canvas of grey and wine. Ash made the air stink and soured the water, of which there was so scarce a supply that larger demons struggled to survive there. A quiet corner of Hell. It wasn’t good for much else than concealing him.

From what he had seen before he holed up in his cave, the Sun hardly ever set there. Though the sky was hazy it was still bright, which didn’t give him much cover to move under. The dark clothing he wore – if it could even still be called that, tattered and worn and filthy as the articles were – provided absolutely no camouflage either. Good thing Vergil was an experienced hunter.

Getting far away from his cave was the first order of business. It wouldn’t do to have his smell lingering near the entrance. Moving along the rocks eliminated the risk of his tracks being followed right up to it. Once he was assured that he was far enough he tipped his head back and took a deep breath through his nose. It burnt his chest to inflate, and the breath was forced back up in a fit of hacking coughs. Vergil spat, the mucus black with the corruption eating his soul. Then he paused, trying to control his breathing to hear if the noise had woken Nero. No, still asleep. After all that he hadn’t even picked up a promising scent on the air.

 _I need to keep moving_.

The long grasses enveloped him at waist height, sighing against his legs and coattails as he pushed through. Something fled from his footfalls, most likely a snake from the human world if the lack of demonic signature was any indication. He had no interest in the non-demonic on this hunt; he needed the little energy killing a devil would give him. Besides, he rather admired the modest niche the creatures had carved out for themselves in such a hostile environment.

A mile and a half away from his cave and the signs of prey were getting promising. A little feel of demonic life here and there, a quick brush from a beast scurrying through the grasses. In his prime, Vergil’s own power would have been so imposing to another demon that it was like a physical pressure…but he was far from that now. Now he only felt like decay.

Following his instincts brought him ever closer to a target, stalking and keeping his senses sharp. It couldn’t have been more than thirty kilos by the sound of it, small but stocky. Once within roughly ten metres he stopped, priming to strike before it sensed him in turn and tried to flee. This would be the hardest part; taking it down. How pathetic it was that such a simple task put such strain on his body.

Vergil stopped breathing entirely, coughing or panting would give him away. The prey was short enough that its head didn’t clear the top of the grass, shuffling quietly through and sniffing as it went, another one approaching that was most likely its mate. When the creature stopped breathing too, he tensed. Had it sensed him, or was it just checking its surroundings?

A second later the devil screeched, the grass around it flailing as it struggled. Vergil froze. It had been killed by something else that was minimising its presence. A predator. He stood tall, never one to be cowed, straightening his back as well as he could. Whatever it was knew he was there, it was just a question of if he could frighten it off the kill or if it would attack.

 _‘Did you hear that?’_ Nero mumbled, drawn out of his sleep by the cries of the smaller demon. Vergil grit his teeth. _So much for keeping him none-the-wiser._

“Go back to -” the other predator burst out of the grasses with a deep hiss, launching themselves at him. Vergil phased out of range of the claw swipe, immediately recognising the risk of the encounter. _Bacchor_. It was a Riot, a large, powerful, and very hostile reptile. This needed to be over with post haste.

 _‘What was that?!’_ Vergil triggered. Adrenaline and testosterone flooded his system, the former dulling the constant pain in his chest and the latter fuelling his aggression. For a brief moment he was allowed to feel the potency of his full power. It was almost cruel.

The Riot had a split second to feel regret at its decision to attack before he was on it. Trying to shake him off was a fool’s errand, but the Riot did it anyway, the two snapping and snarling at each other as he slammed it to the ground. Vaguely he could hear Nero panicking in his ear. His teeth were in its neck a second later, throat crushed and punctured and then completely bitten out. It was the first mouthful he’d had in months, and it felt like swallowing a lump of clay.

The demon gurgled underneath him, going limp as it died. His trigger dropped, and he barely caught himself from falling flat on his face, wheezing. _‘What’s going on, are you okay? Please tell me what’s happening!’_

“It’s – it’s alright,” he croaked, falling into another harsh fit of coughing. The pain was back full force, each hack a white-hot poker through his abdomen.

_‘It’s obviously not!’_

“I w-went out to find some food. I didn’t think it would wake you, I apologise.”

_‘Why are you coughing like that?’_

“There’s no need to worry.”

_‘Like Hell there isn’t!’_

“Nero, please keep it down. I promise I haven’t come to any harm, I’m just – winded, from the fight.” Talking wasn’t doing his gasping lungs any favours, but he wanted to calm Nero.

_‘Fight?’_

“Yes, things usually tend to struggle when you try and eat them.”

 _‘Not funny.’_ Vergil stifled his groan as he leant his weight against the Riot’s corpse to catch his breath. His fragility was humbling, but mostly he found it humiliating. _‘Are you – can I do anything?’_

“Just go back to bed, little one. We’ll talk in the morning.” Through their connection he felt his brother’s approach, a knock sounding at Nero’s door.

_‘You okay in there, kid?’_

_‘Y-yeah, I’m fine. I just had a freaky dream, it woke me up.’_

_‘…As long as you’re alright. You know where to find me if you need something.’_

_‘Thanks Dante.’_ The hunter departed and Nero let out a small sigh, the bedframe squeaking as he lay back down.

It was a relief that his brother was taking care of Nero. There was a little too much junk food and loafing around on the rota for his liking (what did he expect), but it was care nonetheless. Dante was a good man, he'd help most anyone, but the way he treated Nero was akin to responsibility. Perhaps it was.

The first time Vergil had ever seen Nero’s reflection was a moment he would never forget. The boy stepped in front of a mirror to tidy his hair, and Vergil had choked. _Dante_. This was a vision of his younger brother, looking right back at him. In a moment of madness he’d called out his name, and the boy jumped out of his skin and turned to check the bathroom behind him. Thankfully he’d gone back to his reflection, allowing Vergil to appraise him further.

A mess of snow-white hair, bright blue eyes under pale, long lashes…same hair, same eyes, same _face_ …but no, no, this wasn’t his Dante. This boy was younger than he’d last seen his twin on the tower, and much younger than the blurry flashes of a red hunter he saw in his nightmares. It wasn’t Dante, but the resemblance left no room for doubt. His soul had latched onto a relative of theirs.

And when he’d been reunited with the Yamato vicariously, he was certain. Nero had to be a direct relative. He had to be Dante’s son. He knew the boy had his suspicions too, but he wasn’t about to tell Dante’s secrets for him.

Vergil eased himself around to face the carcass. With his blunt human teeth he wouldn’t be able to pierce the thick scales to get at the meat, so he borrowed one of the Riot’s claws to do the work for him. Blood spilt out from the incision, running in rivulets down the demon’s pale sides. In Hell devil blood didn’t crystallise, or the bodies disintegrate, making the killing and eating of them messy work. _I need to be quick. I’ve spent too much time out here already._

The taste of the Riot was a welcome change to the taste of his own poison blood in his mouth. Each swallow was a rock to the pit of his empty stomach, but a necessary one. It didn’t take long for him to feel full. Vergil forced himself to keep eating past the boundary of too-full until he physically could not make himself take down another bite. It hurt; his stomach was cramping and his wound was aggravated from the fight and his head was hurting from the trigger…but now he could turn back and lie down again for a few months more. He didn’t expect he’d get up again this time.

Vergil scrubbed the blood and the scent of the kill off of him with the dry, dusty grass as he hobbled back to his cave. All the life within a wide radius had fled when they had felt him trigger. _These cretins have probably never even heard of a high order demon_. He would be long gone without a trace if anything came to investigate in any case.

Crawling through the entrance was considerably harder with a full stomach. A few mouthfuls of bile kept coming up, threatening the arrival of the rest of his meal, but he forced it all back down. He didn’t bother struggling to his feet again, crawling all the way back to his spot and awkwardly twisting into his supine position. Everything about him ached, it even felt like his _hair_ was aching. Pain was all he had known for years. He was in pain even before Dante gave him this mortal wound and freed him from the Demon Emperor’s control. He was in pain before he fell that day on the tower. Every memory was tainted with a veneer of suffering, the ones he once considered to be happy pushed to the furthest recesses of his scrambled mind and buried.

Nero was sleeping soundly again, snoring lightly. The boy had a tendency to talk in his sleep at times, little words and phrases he slurred out during his deepest dreams that never failed to make Vergil smile. Perhaps it wasn’t _every_ memory.

“Sweet dreams, form a shade…” he whispered to himself. Nero had given him happy memories again. Nero had given him everything he didn't deserve and more. Through Nero he’d been given a chance to see the world again, to see his _brother_ again, to laugh and just be able to talk to someone. Through Nero he’d gotten something he never dreamed he would – when he finally died, he wouldn’t be alone.

_If only I could have seen him in person, just once. Listen to his voice with my own ears, see him smile with my own eyes._

_Nero...I'm sorry._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visions of V confirmed that Vergil knew Nero had to be a descendant of Sparda, but he was so surprised that Nero was HIS son that it made me think he probably thought Dante was his father too *thinky face*...
> 
> ...Even tho he totally got laid right around the time that Nero was conceived, on the same secretive island he was born...look, they only have one brain cell between the three of them ok!


	15. Decision Maker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn this one took a while to get out again! You know how it is when things get busy. It's a little shorter than the usual updates too, but I felt like it was a nice scope to set the chapter in. Thank you all for being so patient with my bad update schedule! <3

There was something going on with the kid.

Dante was worried.

Over the two months that he’d known Nero he endeavoured to think that he’d come to know him well. Nero liked to fight devils, he liked to be loud, and he liked to make jokes. He certainly had the skill and the spirit for all of the above. But underneath that he was a nervous thing. He hated crowds, he hated people looking at him, he dreaded people talking to him. Long story short, Nero was a clashing mix of brash and painfully shy.

There were other things Dante had picked up on too, little habits and ticks that everyone had their individual share of. Most of them were harmless, like Nero rubbing the bridge of his nose and ducking his head when he was feeling shy. Then there were the ones that made Dante concerned. He had a habit of zoning out and tilting his head like he was listening to something only he could hear. He had a habit of talking to himself at length, whispering and mumbling when he was alone.

What was the possibility that he had an imaginary friend in his late teens?

That stunt in the woods that morning had really thrown him. One moment everything had been fine, the kid was dancing around with the demon and trying to suss out what would kill it. Then he’d summoned Yamato whole and got into that goddamn crouch…The scowl on his face, the blade in his hand, the way his blue coat flared out behind him as he lunged - for a split second Nero had been a vision of the past, and Dante would be the first to admit that he’d dealt with it poorly by freaking out and decapitating the pig.

But freak out or no, technique like that didn’t just manifest by itself.

So, there was something going on with the kid. Exactly _what_ he couldn’t say for sure, but Dante had his theories.

It wasn’t often that he hit the books, the hoard of demonic texts and transcripts kept in the basement safe lay undisturbed unless he felt the need to do a little research. A lot of them were in languages he didn’t know, but he could get through the rest with his rusty Latin. Most of it he knew already – whatever texts he gathered he usually read through before storing them away, though it had been a few years since he’d done his homework. Anything on demonic pacts, contracts and covenants he pulled aside to sift through.

 _Demon contracts, okay…_ Dante sat himself on the floor in front of the pile of books and loose papers on the subject. All around him the Devil Arms and artefacts that hung on racks or in cases hummed with power, always somewhat perturbed by his presence. He reached for a roll of papers first, untying the dull ribbon and straightening them out to skim over them. These were about the various unnatural marks that a contract left on the human “participant” (Dante wouldn’t word it that way himself). Interesting, but that didn’t really help him – he wasn’t about to ask Nero to strip so he could search for the mark of the beast on him.

Onto source number two, and excerpt from a book on the effect of demonic energy on humans. There was an ink line drawing of a man bleeding from all orifices midway through the passage that didn’t bode well for his findings.

“‘A covenant between a human and a demon will typically expire when the human succumbs to exhaustion, severe blood-loss, and/or anaemia’…Yikes.” He flipped the page to a much less alarming illustration of a man covering his ears. “‘Humans that enter a covenant are documented to suffer frequent auditory and visual hallucinations.’” _Nero’s hearing_ something _, but he’s not seeing things. Damn…this is making me hope I’m wrong about this_.

After a few more sources Dante decided to put his research on temporary hold. All he was learning were the grisly side-effects of entering a demonic contract, none of which told him how he could stop it or break the pact. There was only one course of action he could think to take: make Nero reveal the identity of the parasite and track it down in Hell to kill it. Of course, it was far too risky – if the demon knew he was onto it, it could go into hiding, or it could just kill Nero outright once the jig was up. Travelling to Hell was no cake walk either; there was the question of how he would get there, how he would get back, how long it would take. The last time he was in the Underworld it took him five years to get out.

That aside, he expected Nero wouldn’t react well to being questioned, whether it was for his own good or not. Pacts couldn’t be formed unless all parties were willing, which meant Nero had actively let the demon bind itself to him…a fact that would no doubt make him sore once the kid realised just what he’d gotten himself into. Dante expected he’d react even worse to him pulling a disappearing act and leaving him all alone than the questioning.

But what would happen if he didn’t?

The hunter sighed and got to his feet, leaving the chamber without bothering to tidy the texts. He could do it some other time. Devil May Cry was quiet as he re-entered the office space. Nero had already gone up to bed. _Ah kid…what am I gonna do with you?_ Dante stopped behind his desk. Slowly he lowered himself into the chair, fingers playing with the brass handle of the small desk drawer before sliding it open. Inside were a stack of various envelopes and papers, bills and repairs for the building, but underneath the organised chaos he kept something much more important.

His fingers traced along the edge of an old glove. He still couldn’t bring himself to fish it out and look at the slice down the middle.

_I won’t lose your boy too. I promise._

A noise from upstairs drew him back to the present. Nero was talking to himself again, raising his voice. Dante stood and slunk toward the stairs, keeping his ears pricked for the snippets he could pick up from downstairs.

“…okay? Please…what’s happening!...It’s obviously not!...Why…like that?...Like Hell there isn’t!” The kid was clearly panicked. He carried on up toward the room as the volume of the one-sided conversation dropped. _If that thing is trying to threaten him in there, I swear_. Dante knocked.

“You okay in there, kid?” As he already knew Nero was in there alone, he could only feel the thrum of the kid’s power (and if he really concentrated, the quiet, steady hum of the Yamato underneath) behind the door.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. I just had a freaky dream, it woke me up.” _Sure._

“…As long as you’re alright. You know where to find me if you need something.”

“Thanks Dante.” The hunter didn’t linger, heading back down to his desk.

“What now,” he muttered to himself. _If I leave I abandon Nero; if I stay this thing could kill him…I could go round in circles like this all damn night_. Even if he decided to go, he couldn’t leave right away. There was another problem brewing around Red Grave.

Draghignazzo. A fortnight later, Ciriatto. It was no coincidence that two members of the Malebranche showed up in the same area around the same time. The rest were sure to follow. While they were separated, trying to find each other, they were no big chore to take down. But if the rest banded together it could be another story.

The _why_ of their arrival was obvious – the only business a high order demon would have around Red Grave was with _him_. This could be retaliation for Mallet Island and the defeat of their master, the years of delay due to the logistics of getting several big demons out of Hell at the same time to the same place. _And now Nero’s getting caught in the crossfire_. These ancient creatures still held a bitter grudge against his father from the Great War two thousand years ago, and if Ciriatto had recognised Nero’s (admittedly obvious) heritage immediately then so would the others. Not that he didn’t think the kid could handle himself, but it was practically Dante’s job to worry about him now. These were a different breed to the artificial devils on Fortuna.

One thing at a time. Nothing could be done about the Malebranche until they showed themselves in the Human World. As for Nero’s problem, there was another trusty source he could try on a whim. Why not go for it while he was in the researching mood?

The number had long since been memorised. If his old rotary had the function of speed dial, this number would be at one. After precisely three rings, she picked up like clockwork.

“Speak.” _Never one to mince words._

“Hey Trish. I got a little favour to ask.”

“Is it pizza related by any chance?”

“Not this time – but if you wanna chuck in a 2am pizza run too I wouldn’t complain.”

“Thought so. What’s the favour?”

“I just wanna know something, for a potential case. What do you know about demonic contracts? Specifically, the breaking of them.”

“…What have you got yourself into now?” Trish _really_ thought he would get caught up in something like that? He didn't know whether to be surprised or offended.

“Nothing! Oh ye of little faith! I said it was for a case, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh, just asking for a friend, right? Well, I do know that they’re broken when either the human or demon dies.”

“Is there another way? Preferably a non-fatal one?”

“I…don’t know. Contracts that aren’t consummated can dissolve if either party then ceases to consent the pact,” Trish offered. Consummated. Now that was a thought Dante didn’t want in his head. It didn’t necessarily entail a sexual act, but that was the first deed that would come to anyone’s mind at the mention of the word.

“Dunno if that applies here.”

“Then I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.”

“Yeah, me too,” Dante sighed. One phone call couldn't solve this, no matter how reliable Trish was.

“Actually…I may have a suggestion.” _Maybe I spoke too soon._

“Shoot.”

“It may be worth going to Fortuna to look through any Order of the Sword material that may still be intact. If their goal was to create artificial demons using human bodies they may have started with covenants. Just an idea.”

“Good thinking! Not just a pretty face eh?” The demoness was silent, but he could _feel_ the glare down the phone. “Thanks Trish. And try not to tell Lady about this for once, I got this case off the books.”

“I would never do any such thing,” she deadpanned. Dante wouldn’t be surprised if she had him on speaker with Lady right now.

“‘Course not. Seeya Trish.”

“Ciao.” The hunter replaced the phone on the cradle. The Order archives were a promising lead; he certainly preferred it over going to Hell or asking Nero if he’d been molested by a demon. _Why didn’t I think of that?_ Assuming the islanders had left the documents untouched, he could have a whole host of texts that would be better kept behind the maleporta in the basement. Can’t have that kind of info just floating around, especially since the Order had been successful in their demonic transplantations.

That settled it. He would wait until Nero had gone back and fly himself straight to the flashy cult headquarters to begin hunting for the answer that would save his nephew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dante "I will throw hands for my nephew" Sparda
> 
> Lemme know what you think with a comment! :)


	16. Hit the Books

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Wow that was certainly a hiatus!
> 
> I took a long time off of writing due to the recent loss of a family member, but I've been writing a little here and there to get this chapter out. Once I got back into the swing of it I enjoyed writing again!  
> All of your supportive comments in the dry spell have meant so much to me, and really drove me to keep at it. Thank you all so much!
> 
> Without further ado...here you go.

Fortuna was dull. Not the most astute observation Nero had ever made, but it was true. He was the most lively thing about the town as he wandered through it from the harbour, and the residents were supposed to be prepping for the harvest festival. In the wake of the demon outbreak the Fortunians had pledged that the merrymaking that year would be double to make up for all they’d lost (including a large portion of their crops). No one would know it by the way they all slunk about like ghosts in their white shrouds - but that could just be the effect Nero’s presence had on a crowd of the devout.

The hybrid only went back to the house to drop off his pack, heading right back out toward Fortuna Castle. His last few tussles with devils had inspired him to work even harder at his training. He and Dante had just come off of another big hunt the previous night, some slimy crocodilian looking thing that introduced itself as Calcabrina and tried to converse with Dante in a language that Nero didn’t understand. When Dante had responded in the same foreign language Nero was quite impressed. He had a lot to learn.

The room that he trained in at the castle was usually cold, being made of stone and without any windows, away from the warmth of the sun. Today was no exception. Nero kept his coat on when he entered, scuffing the dirt from his boots on a bristled mat by the tall, arched door (Vergil’s idea). The rest of the furniture had been tossed out of the room, aside from the mirrors laid along one wall. More than once the teen had thought of Dante as he passed the antiques left in the castle; he could furnish Devil May Cry a hundred times over with it all.

_‘You’re eager today.’_

“Think so?”

_‘You didn’t wait to see Kyrie at the house.’_

“She’s out sewing bunting for the festival, remember? She’ll know I’m back safe anyway, someone will have told her by now. I wanna get back to training.”

 _‘I can tell. Bring Yamato out then – take up the last position you worked on, it still needs more practice.’_ The beautiful katana emerged from a veil of light. Nero was definitely getting better at withstanding her, something he was very proud of whenever Vergil pointed it out. He brushed the sageo aside as he corrected his grip on the sheath. The golden details of the tsuba twinkled in the candlelight against the navy blue enamel. To Nero, it looked like gilded lily-pads on a pool of deep water.

He got down into the stance, his jeans straining to keep up with his flexibility. It took no time at all to set up for strikes compared to how slow he used to be to correct his grip and positioning. The second he was about to make his move he was interrupted by a worrying sensation. A bolt passed through his body, his Bringer flashing bright blue before fading again.

“The fuck?”

 _‘It was Dante.’_ Vergil sounded as surprised as Nero felt.

“ _Dante?_ You sure?”

_‘Yes. He must have flown overhead.’_

“I was with him just this morning. Think he’s looking for me?” Was there some kind of emergency? Dante hadn’t been to Fortuna since the Hellgate incident; the small religious town wasn’t really his scene, and the Fortunians’ extreme xenophobia wasn’t much of a draw either.

_‘I…don’t know. He was moving fast. If he were still in the vicinity we’d be able to feel him.’_

“So he just flew off? Couldn’t he feel me here?” Vergil didn’t reply. Nero couldn’t just go back to practicing forms now – he had to know what Dante was up to. Yamato went back to rest within him, and the training room was abandoned in favour of tailing the devil hunter. _But which way did he go? If he came over from the mainland and flew straight, he’d be heading over…Mitis Forest?_ Once he reached the main hall again, after pushing through a series of heavy doors, he got a belated answer from his demon.

_‘He would have felt you. Perhaps he didn’t realise that you were able to feel him.’_

“Okay…are you saying that he doesn’t want me to know he’s here? ‘Cause that’s what it sounds like.”

 _‘I truthfully have no idea what he’s doing. Carry on and find him, you’ve got me curious now too.’_ Nero gave him a little ‘aye aye captain’ and scrambled from the dais onto the second floor. Through the great hole he’d created in the wall with the chandelier months ago he could get to the waterfall bridge behind the castle.

The quiet was almost eerie as he trudged through the empty halls and courtyard, especially so when he reached the lab. Everything was exactly as he’d left it – a huge mess. Though this time the various machines were powered down. It was dark without the fluorescents, but he could still see the crumbled hole in the wall where he’d been pinned to it. _I was dying_. Nero felt a chill and cleared his throat, realising he’d been looking at the spot for too long.

“This is where we found the Yamato.” His voice echoed softly in the metal chamber behind the laboratory.

 _‘Hmm. How far you’ve come since then.’_ Nero smiled. Vergil was getting good at giving him little verbal pats on the back.

They left through the door and stepped into the warm sunshine, the roar of the waterfall a sudden and welcome contrast to the dead silence of the castle. Having, regrettably, left Red Queen at the house, Nero had to activate the strange dial that controlled the bridge with his Bringer. He watched with fascination as the dams blocked the immense flow of water and hurried across, knowing how little time he had until the water would overflow the dams and the bridge would have to retract. Sunlight glittered off the wet face of the cliff, forcing him to blink and adjust to the abrupt return to darkness in the dug-out tunnel.

“Dante better’ve come this way,” he grumbled. When he re-emerged, he took a second to admire the view of the forest. Since the Hellgates were destroyed Mitis Forest went back to being its normal, temperate climate. “Well. I can’t see him.” The sky was clear of both clouds and red devils.

_‘Now this is familiar.’_

“What is?”

 _‘Running around after Dante. Let’s hope he’s not equally intent on aggravating you this time as he was last.’_ Nero snorted. Now that he was there, overlooking the forest, he wondered anew why on Earth the hunter would be out there. The only point of interest past Fortuna Castle was HQ, and the Order had steered clear of that as well. _What are you doing?_

The teen marched on, picking up a track beaten by Fortunians taking a different route to HQ. A small train used to pick soldiers and high-ranking Order members up at the edge of town and chug its way on a likewise small track carved through the mountains; dropping them off at the forest where the scenic route led them to Headquarters.

Nero had been on the train plenty of times, the first when he was being officially instated as a Knight. Freshly sixteen and tremendously eager to be knighted, he’d spent the whole journey glued to the windows, watching the mountains go by and jittering his legs much to Credo’s annoyance. The novelty eventually wore off once he had to take the journey regularly. It was the beginning of autumn during his maiden voyage, he remembered; Mitis Forest was a splotchy canvas of yellowing-green and rusty orange when they’d disembarked. _That means…_

“It’s my birthday soon,” Nero remarked suddenly. With everything that had been going on it had completely slipped his mind – not that his birthday was ever a big event before. Kyrie would bake him a cake, her parents would gift him with some religious artifact symbolic of his age, and Credo might find the time to buy him the part he needed for whatever project he was tinkering with in his room. For once, the lack of pomp and circumstance wasn’t because he was being excluded; the family simply didn’t make much of a celebration of birthdays. Nor did the orphanage, for that matter.

_‘Your eighteenth, correct?’_

“Yep. Y’know, on Fortuna you get a crown when you turn eighteen. It’s some Order tradition. Once you turn ten, they start giving you all this weird shit each year. Eighteen is a crown.”

_‘I can imagine you were very responsive to your traditional gifts.’_

“If by responsive you mean I couldn’t wait to get it shoved in the attic, then yeah.” Vergil chuckled, which melted into a cough. “I dunno if Kyrie will get me one though.”

_‘Why not? She practices the religion.’_

“Well, the crowns are supposed to have horns on ‘em. I guess I thought she’d think it was in bad taste – because of my arm.” If Vergil felt one way or the other about it, he didn’t make any indication of it. Conversation lapsed into a comfortable quiet, with Nero spending the rest of the trek idly looking about and admiring the embrace of nature, until the trees thinned out before the bridge to HQ. It was the same as it ever was, but everything had changed. The Order didn’t go there anymore. Whether that would ever change, he didn’t know. Or care, really. It stood, tall and regal and imposing and empty…with the exception of Dante. _If he really is in there_.

The teen strode across the bridge, very pointedly not looking at the cracks in the floor of the plaza left where he and Credo had fought, for the last time.

Much like Fortuna Castle, HQ was uncannily silent. Nero found himself lost at the threshold - should he call out for Dante, or just go looking himself? He quickly decided on the latter, striking out deeper into the building. Once he could feel the hunter locating him would be easy. If Vergil were right about Dante’s abilities, he could very well be aware of Nero’s proximity already. So, why wasn’t he coming forward to greet him?

It wasn’t long before the hunter’s strong presence made itself known, coming from… _The library?_ He didn’t pin Dante as much of a reader, but he was always full of surprises. Nero navigated to and pushed his way into the library with little fanfare; what was the point in announcing himself when the cambion knew he was there ages ago? Inside looked a lot like its counterpart at Fortuna Castle, albeit with only one storey and a lower ceiling. Bookshelves were built into the white walls, the books arranged with painstaking neatness by groups of subject matter. Well, they _were_ neatly arranged until Dante came along.

“Kid!” the man himself called from a very casual seat at a table laden with tall, heavy hardcovers. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“I could say the same for you,” Nero challenged, not unkindly. “It’s been a while…maybe, like, three hours?” The hunter snorted. “What’s on?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I’m catching up on a bit of reading.”

“Yeah, these look real entertaining,” Nero gestured to the tomes gathered on the desk. He lifted the cover of one that lay open and read the title aloud, “‘Demonic possession and the cursing of artifacts.’ What a page turner.”

“You’d be surprised.” Nero sighed, crossing his arms. Dante obviously wasn’t planning on being forthcoming with him.

“What are you doing here?”

“This may shock you, but I’m being responsible.”

 _‘That does shock me.’_ The teen smothered the smile that threatened to appear like a pro.

“Are you gonna elaborate, or…?”

“I’m doing a public service! I think it’s fair to say that no one wants a repeat of what went down here a few months ago, so I’m gonna make some Order of the Sword research go missing.” _Wow, he actually is being responsible._ “I’m not gonna take every book – my place isn’t _that_ big. I gotta read through to see what’s worth stealing. Uh, _relocating_.” Nero nodded his approval reluctantly.

“And you had to fly here and not take the boat with me a few hours ago _because?_ ”

“I like to arrive in style.” There was nothing he could really say to that. No one could really blame Dante for wanting to avoid town altogether either.

“…Alright then.” He pulled the chair opposite out, with an obnoxious squeaking against the stone floor, and plopped himself down. The book closest to him was bound in white leather; ‘The Third Party Applications of Demonic Curses’.

“What’re you doing kid?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he mimicked his earlier words. “I’m helping out. You’ll be here reading forever.” Dante looked so genuinely taken aback that it was insulting. “What?”

“You can read?” The teen kicked Dante’s kneecap so hard under the table that the hunter’s chair shot out and skidded a good few metres away. If he’d been human his knee probably would’ve been shattered, but the cambion just laughed. “I’m _kidding_. Maybe a little surprised that you’re volunteering to sit still and concentrate, though.”

“Fuck off.”

And that was the last of their correspondence, for a while. Nero got settled in front of his book, flicking the dusty pages to the first daunting block of information. The text was a solid wall that took up a modest space on the large page, the paragraphs either extremely long or non-existent. He held in a sigh, lest he prove Dante right.

By the looks of it the introductory chapter gave a few of the basics of demonic curses, a subject that he may have considered somewhat interesting if it wasn’t for the dry as a bone manner of the author.

 _‘Turn the page.’_ Nero started. He wanted to ask for clarification – he was halfway through the sixth sentence – but he couldn’t with Dante sat just across from him. His hesitance was enough of a question, as Vergil quickly explained, _‘I’ve finished the page. I don’t intend to be insulting, but this will go much faster if you let me do all the reading.’_ The hybrid certainly wasn’t going to turn the offer down.

Vergil’s help made the research a piece of cake. He just had to look at a page and his demon would finish it in little under a minute, asking for him to turn to the next one when he needed. If only he had Vergil when he was studying for his knighthood.

The pair were broken from their grind when Dante opened a can of soft drink, seemingly as loud as possible.

“Sorry,” he stage-whispered, and proceeded to slurp the contents noisily. Nero could practically _feel_ Vergil fuming silently from the Underworld. “You want one?” Dante lifted a previously unnoticed box of cans from behind a stack of books. “I brought food too.”

 _‘Why does he insist on feeding you nothing but junk?’_ Nero took a can anyway, earning him a quiet _tsk_ from his demon. _‘Nero!’_

“This stuff tastes good,” he said aloud to them both. Dante lifted his own can in a little _amen to that_. Nero (Vergil) got through another page before they were interrupted again.

“You read pretty quick,” the hunter observed, nodding to his progress through the book. “Interested in curses?”

“Not really,” the hybrid answered truthfully.

“What about possession?” Dante tapped his own book, that he’d also made significant progress through. Was he just skimming, or was he really quick at reading too?

“Nah…But I guess it’s good to learn about it anyway if I’m gonna be fighting demons.” _If only I was actually taking any of the info in. I’ll just get V to tell me later._

“In that case this is the easiest lesson I’ve ever taught.” Nero huffed and cast his attention back to the print before him. Dante watched him scan and turn a page, resting his cheek in his inhuman palm, and something escaped him suddenly and completely unbidden. “My brother used to be a fast reader too.”

The teen looked up from his book with wide eyes. That was the first time the hunter had mentioned his sibling, aside from revealing that he used to own the Yamato on the ill-fated day that they had met. Dante himself seemed just as shocked that he’d come out with it, swiftly picking his old book up to read and prevent any further talk on the topic. Nero was happy to humour him there; he was curious, naturally, but he knew it wasn’t any of his business.

But the strange compulsion that urged Dante to speak struck again in the silence. “He used to have a little desk in his room that he’d read at. He’d sit there, just like you,” the hunter indicated to the way his face was in hand, “and…read.” Nero didn’t know whether he should say something. Or smile. So, he just stayed still and quiet until Dante cleared his throat and went back to reading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this wasn't the most action- packed or dialogue heavy chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway <3


	17. Smoke and Mirrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rewrote this one about four times. Yes it took me over a month.  
> Happy reading!

Vergil deserved some kind of medal for his dedication to the cause of Dante’s research. After a good few hours the hunter called recess, already having a few books set aside to confiscate and a hefty pile of harmless books to leave behind – most of which Vergil had sorted through. It wasn’t a matter of reading through the entire book, lucky for Nero’s eyes and Vergil’s sanity; just reading the more pertinent details and deciding the tome’s worth.

“Nice work, kid! I had no idea you were such a little bookworm.” Dante threw Nero the canvass bag that he’d transported the snacks in for the teen to help himself.

“What can I say?” His facetious tone was mostly for Vergil’s benefit, who scoffed back at him. _Sorry, but it’s not like I can let you take the credit_. Dante started on his own snack and leant back in the rigid HQ chair, picking up one of the books Nero had relegated to the ‘confiscate’ stack to flip through. “You don’t trust my judgement?”

“Course, I’m just takin’ a look. ‘Demonic Dominion of the Earthly Body’, huh. I got a couple texts like that back home.”

“Oh yeah?” Nero drawled, chewing lazily on his chocolate bar and clearly not interested in talking shop if it was going to involve reading. _If all Dante’s books are like that it explains why I’ve never seen him reading anything but magazines._

“I gotta keep up to date with this stuff; never know when it’ll come in handy…Possession’s pretty rare nowadays, but it’s one of the most dangerous way a demon can manipulate someone all the way from the Underworld.” The teen hummed to let him know he was still listening.

“Is it true that it makes people do weird shit?” He’d heard things here and there growing up about the sacrilegious and harmful things a so-called possession could make people do. Personally, he’d never believed it was true that a demon could enter someone’s body like that.

The connection he shared with Vergil didn’t even cross his mind.

“Maybe at first, but it’s a little more insidious than _‘weird’_. It’s always harmful. Always lethal. Humans don’t understand it, they think they can still get away alive.”

“Damn,” was all Nero could offer. Obviously, he’d been grossly misinformed; the Order devout just made it sound like a temporary sickness, the demonic sniffles. It wasn’t usually like Dante to talk about something so dark.

“Not all demons are stupid. Some of them know just what to say to get someone to let them in. Pretend that they’re helping somehow. Or maybe that they’re friends.” Something in Dante’s tone made the teen glance over at him. The hunter was watching. “But they’re not. It’s all lies. They're just trying to lure you in…Find someone who's vulnerable...young, so they can manipulate them."

 _Now_ the connection crossed his mind. Nero broke eye contact, finding the shiny wrapping of the chocolate bar much more bearable than Dante’s pointed gaze.

“That right?” he murmured, heart staring to race.

“…Why don’t you call it a day kid? You’ve done a lot already, you gotta be bored!” the red devil changed the subject, his manner a complete 180 from moments ago. Nero was glad for the way out, but he didn’t want to seem _too_ eager.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, why not? I don’t wanna keep you locked up in here all day.”

“In that case…” he helped himself to another snack from the bag and got up, “I’ll see you around. Good luck with all this.”

“See ya.” The hunter gave him a mocking little salute as he turned to leave, picking up another one of Nero’s sorted books. When Nero grasped the gilded doorknob, he noticed that his palm was sweating. “Wait – one more thing, kid.” Dante stopped him from escaping, talking to him next in a foreign language.

“What?” Nero chuckled.

“You don’t speak Latin?” _What the fuck is he doing now?_

“No.”

“Huh. That’s funny.” Dante clicked his tongue.

“Why’s that funny?” The hunter held up the book toward him, open to reveal the pages.

“Because you can read it.” Nero felt his blood run cold. There was no way he could possibly school his expression, his pure shock likely written clear all over his face. “I’ll see you later, kid.”

///

Relief. A somewhat foreign concept in his painful, arduous life. Relief wasn’t something Vergil experienced often. It certainly wasn’t what he expected to feel flooding into his burning chest when he realised that Dante _knew_.

Where it mattered, his brother had always held his cards close to his chest. The fact that Dante revealed to Nero that he knew about…their _situation_ , if that’s what he could call it, meant that their time together was undeniably limited. Dante would strive to separate them, and soon. And he was relieved.

Because his own time was undeniably limited. The pain of the long-lingering infection had always been excruciating, but now it was reaching a crescendoing tide that left him sweating and shivering on the cavern floor. The rare moments he opened his eyes there were large, migrating black spots in his blurry vision. There were even times that he became unconscious, though brief and going unnoticed by his young companion because of his usual quiet temperament.

He wasn’t long for this world, or the other, now. If Dante didn’t separate them, one day soon Nero was going to wake up and greet him and never get a response. He couldn’t let that come to pass; Nero didn’t deserve that. His brother would be doing them a kindness.

 _‘What was that?’_ Nero asked shakily, pulling Vergil from his introspection. The boy wasn’t an idiot, he recognised the thinly veiled threat their hunter kin had given him. Since leaving the library Nero had been practically _fleeing_ the scene, occasionally casting glances over his shoulder as though he expected to find Dante prowling after them like a great red leopard. Vergil cleared his dry throat.

“He knows.”

 _‘No shit.’_ Another not-so-subtle look behind them. _‘Should I be panicking or something?’_

Vergil was torn between sardonically asking if he wasn’t already panicking and just laughing. Dante threatens someone and they wonder if they should be worried? Though, it wasn’t like Nero was in any danger; Dante would never hurt him. Purposely.

“No Nero.”

_‘So – what do we do?’_

“Do?”

 _‘Yeah, what do we_ do? _’_ Vergil sighed, sensing the impending argument. He wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t want Dante to intervene, but Nero was never going to accept that. The boy would not understand. Perhaps a lie of omission was in order? Just to stall him until the sword dropped, and avoid a shouting match in the middle of the woods. Lying wasn’t a talent of his, but he was certainly an expert at omission.

“Let’s…wait and see.”

 _‘Good plan! Let’s not put out the fire until the whole building’s gone up!_ C’mon _Vergil, we gotta do something!’_

“Stop saying my name,” he ordered suddenly, the sound of it echoing through the trees putting him on edge. Someone could be listening now. “Want something to do? Do that, for my sake. No matter what, you can never let Dante hear my name, or I’ll be in more danger than I am already. Understand?”

_‘Yes?’_

“Promise me.”

 _‘Yes, damn,’_ Nero grumbled. _‘I’ll never say it again, Knight’s honour.’_ The sarcasm didn’t give the cambion much faith. But he wanted to _avoid_ the shouting match.

“Thank you.”

He wondered how much time they had left. Dante wasn’t a patient man. What exactly his brother had planned, he didn’t know. Thankfully, it wasn’t his problem to solve. All he had to do was wait. Once he was alone he could finally let himself rest, knowing that Nero was in good hands with his little brother. And, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t wake up.

///

They didn’t see Dante again for several days. Nero still ventured out to the castle to train but spent the time on tenterhooks, paranoid about being watched, reluctant to talk to his devil while away from the safety of his bedroom or the training room. The interaction in the library played on repeat in his mind; Dante’s changes in attitude, the lengthy talk on possession, that stupid, _stupid fucking Latin text_ …that was a real punch in the gut. They’d really fucked up there.

But over the days the feeling of paranoia gradually diminished. Vergil being largely unperturbed by it all definitely helped. Maybe he had misinterpreted things – maybe Dante didn’t mean anything by what he said. Nero was just overthinking it. If Vergil wasn’t worried, then he shouldn’t be either. Right?

Yeah.

Yet convincing himself of that didn’t stop him from jumping out his skin when the hunter slipped into the room while he was training one day.

“ _Fuck –_ Dante quit sneaking up on me!” Seeing as Nero hadn’t sensed him at all until he appeared meant that Dante must’ve been masking his demonic presence, which would’ve been nice to know that he could do. It also would’ve been nice to know _why_ he decided to do that. It didn’t take a verbal warning from Vergil to tell him that there was something a little off here.

“Hey, kid.” The hunter sidled in; hands somehow jammed in the pockets of his tight leather trousers. He appraised the room slowly, eyes wandering over the walls all the way up to the high ceiling. “What’s with all the mirrors?”

“Um, i-it makes it easier to check my posture. I’m practicing.” Nero wiggled the Yamato slightly in his grip to show him.

“Ah! I wondered what you were still doing hanging out in this big ol’ castle.”

“Yeah, my room isn’t really big enough,” Nero huffed a laugh, but it came out a little forced. Dante smiled and nodded anyway.

“You’re taking the swordplay seriously, huh? Good kid. Well, aren’t you gonna show me any of your moves?” Dante gestured broadly to the room, taking a step to the wall to make space.

“Oh…nah, it’s – I’m not that good at it yet.” There was no way in Hell he was going to give a demonstration; he’d rather get up in church and recite something to the whole of Fortuna.

“I dunno about that, I’ve seen your fancy moves before. Where’d you learn to do that anyway?”

“A book.” Technically not a lie.

“Was this one in English?” _Shit…_

“Yeah…sorry about that. I must’ve put the wrong book on the pile.” That _was_ a lie. He’d rather Dante believe he was a shitty helper than believe he was reading languages he didn’t even know.

“Don’t sweat it, no harm no foul right?”

“Still. I was real embarrassed when you caught me out.”

“No kidding. Hey – could I see the Yamato for a sec?” Nero hefted the sheathed blade, ready to hand it over handle first when Vergil cut in with a strained,

 _‘Nero.’_ That made him hesitate. Vergil wouldn’t have said anything unless he thought something was amiss.

“W-why?”

“‘ _Why?’_ Um, because she’s mine? Why’re you being weird about it, give her here.” Nero relented and held the katana out, the hunter taking her and giving her a skilful spin before unsheathing her partway to inspect the blade in the candlelight. “Two thousand years and still lookin’ good girl…Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow her for something.” A little strange seeing as Dante had his own enormous magic sword, but whatever. And a bit of a bummer to be without, but he was right in that the Yamato truly belonged to him.

“…Okay, sure. What do you need?”

“I’m gonna cut your arm off,” Dante told him simply. Nero made a weird noise that was almost a disbelieving laugh, and then Dante was on him.

It felt what he imagined being hit by a car was like. The hunter slammed him backward, knocking his feet out so that he was dangling by his Bringer, which was locked in Dante’s hold at the shoulder. Yamato flashed where she was pressed just under the joint, pressing on the hard scales. Nero coughed, winded, and tried in vain to free himself by kicking Dante’s shins and attempting to get back on his feet.

“WHAT THE FUCK!”

“Y’know, it really clicked for me watching your body language the other day. Gotta say, this is one weird-ass mark of the beast. It’s been staring me in the face this whole time, huh?” The teen threw all of the weight he could into a few solid punches on Dante’s spine, but they fell harmlessly against his back even with his preternatural strength. “If you want something separated, Yamato’s your girl. This is gonna hurt.” Dante then started to _press_ the Yamato against the bicep of his Bringer, showcasing some preternatural strength of his own. Nero felt a few of the thick, solid scales under the sword crack with the pressure, keening in pain.

“ _STOP!!!”_ He tried to thrash his Bringer to claw the hunter, but it was held fast.

“I’ll stop – on one condition.” Dante threw him a look over his shoulder. “Tell me about the demon!”

“Th- what?!”

“Don’t waste time playing dumb, I _know_ about the parasite. Tell me about it now, or I’ll just cut it off.”

 _‘Don’t say anything,’_ Vergil ordered coolly.

“Nononono wait, _wait!_ I – don’t know what you’re talking about!” The ceaseless pressure of the katana increased until there was an audible splintering of his armoured plates followed by a hot gush of blood, pouring over Dante’s restraining arm and over Nero’s neck. “YOU’RE FUCKING CRAZY DANTE!”

“Tick tock, kid. Tell me now or say goodbye.”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Either way, it’s going, but you can save your arm here.”

 _‘This is ridiculous,’_ the demon in question hissed, voice tense.

“Tell me its name at least, c’mon.”

“Fuck – I – CAN’T!” Yamato bit smoothly into the softer muscle under the chitin, digging in until the back of the blade was almost disappearing into the flesh, a hair’s breadth away from scraping bone. Nero went rigid, his whole body spasming in agony. This was worse than being impaled by the Angelo – was Yamato doing something to his flesh? His nerves were alight and burning, like the katana was pouring acid into his veins as she went. “STOP!”

 _‘No. Not like this. I won’t let him hurt you, Nero.’_ The promise almost went unheard under the distraction of his pain, until Nero felt a familiar, potent rush spreading through him head to toe. Vergil was going to make him Trigger.

“NO VERGIL DON’T-”

Dante whipped his head back in time to see a blaze of blue light to grab him bodily and, separating him from Nero, fling the hunter straight through the five-foot thick solid stone wall of the castle at the other end of the room. The Yamato cartwheeled away, landing with a clang somewhere behind the veil of dust that the destroyed masonry had coughed out. Nero fell like a sack and quickly got to his feet, disoriented but healed by the effect of the Trigger.

Vergil’s apparition dissipated, while a red glow bloomed from behind the hole in the wall. There was a moment of perfect silence as the dust tried to settle.

If getting tackled by Dante was akin to being hit by a car, the second time was getting obliterated with a freight train. Nero didn’t even see him coming; one moment he was stood in suspension and the next he was pinned down against the wall and three of his ribs were broken.

Dante had Triggered, the demon gripping onto his Bringer in both enormous hands and pressing a clawed foot into his neck.

**“VERGIL!”**

“Ack! Dan-te!” Nero wheezed, the life getting squeezed out of him by the hunter’s foot. But he didn’t dare move, everything in him telling him not to poke the beast at his throat. Dante seemed to be similarly afflicted, poised stock still aside from his heaving chest with his bright wings crowded over them.

“ _You -!”_ Dante choked, his vice grip on the demonic arm trembling. “You _f u c k in g_ …Let go of Nero, _now_.”

 _‘You first,’_ Vergil parried flatly, though Dante couldn’t hear him.

“Come back out here and try it again, I’ll rip your head off.”

“No!” Nero grit out from the floor.

“ _Stay outta this_ Nero _.”_

“Stay out of-it!? Get your fucken foot off me!!!”

“Nero,” Dante finally turned his sharp red eyes to the boy he had pinned under him, growling, “You cannot comprehend the trouble you’re in right now.” Crimson flames licked up the hunter’s arms and shoulders, twirling in a blaze around the spiked crown of his head. It was probably safe to say that Dante was beyond **mad**. It was also probably safe to say that Dante recognised the name Vergil, who had gone back to being mute.

“Dante you’re – _choking-_ ” Nero rasped, his face just as red as the devil holding him down. He must’ve sounded pitiful enough to knock some sense back into Dante, gasping deeply when the hunter stepped off and away from him. He felt more than saw him pacing in fast little circles, wings spread and stirring the air, before stopping in front of the teen to point accusingly at where he was cradling his poor Bringer.

“You just don’t know when to give up, do you?! _Why_ are you so impossible to kill?!” Nero would have interjected with one of the million questions he had, but Dante clearly wasn’t done with his outburst. The cambion dug the heels of his scaled hands into his eyes, groaning like a wounded animal. “Vergil. Vergil? WHAT the FUCK!!!”

Vergil was still opting to say nothing, so the teen clearly wasn’t going to get any answers there. He shuffled up into a sitting position against the wall, still regaining his breath and watching Dante’s catastrophic meltdown warily.

“I guess you know each other?”

Oh boy was that the wrong thing to say.

Dante started to laugh, and Nero had never heard anyone sound more like a lunatic. And he was raised on Fortuna. It might’ve been funny if the hunter wasn’t still Triggered and acting like he was about to snap and kill him at any second.

“ _Know_ each other? _YeahIguessyoucouldsaythat_.” Dante took his hands away from his eyes, curling them into fists. Then he took a deep breath, de-Triggering with a shudder, and announced heatedly, “Vergil is my _brother_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3


	18. The Fallout

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found this one even harder to write than the last chapter! I took ages rewriting it again, and decided to settle on this draft before I drive myself crazy.  
> Enjoy!

No…no, it can’t be. No, that’s – that’s not – they’ve known Dante for months, he would’ve said that –

he knew Dante from the very beginning –

It can’t be, Vergil had never mentioned family, he was a demon from the Underworld –

Dante’s brother was dead

_It was originally my brother’s_

He’d never mentioned family

He was teaching him to wield the Yamato

_I…happen to have experience with blades like the Yamato_

He made Nero promise that Dante would never hear his name

Vergil…had been lying to him all along?

Dante was saying something, but Nero wasn’t taking any of it in. The hybrid shimmed up the wall onto his feet and took a few steps, only to be stopped by a pair of hands on his shoulders. He was getting sick of Dante manhandling him today.

“Woah woah, where are you going?”

“Back to my house.” Dante sighed in a very disturbingly Vergil way and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

“We need to talk about this, kid.”

“I don’t have to do shit, actually.” Nero shrugged him off and stalked away to collect the Yamato off the floor. His broken ribs were healed, but they still ached when he bent down.

“Nero – just hold on a sec, please?” The teen gestured for him to get on with it while he wiped the dust from the katana with the hem of his shirt. “Obviously you’re…shocked. We don’t have to talk _right_ now, we don’t, I swear. Come back to Red Grave with me -”

“Why would I go _anywhere_ with you; you just tried to cut off my ARM!”

“I wasn’t going to cut it off.” And Dante had the _audacity_ to sound annoyed by the accusation.

“You got pretty close!”

“I just wanted to scare you into talking! Cutting it off wouldn’t’ve done anything, I was bluffing.”

“That’s a really shitty thing to do,” Nero told him shakily. “You choked me out and caved my fucking chest in too, asshole.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well doesn’t that just make it all better?” the teen hissed. Yamato dissipated back into his Bringer, and he turned to stalk away out the room. But he knew he wouldn’t shake the hunter off that easily.

“I’m serious Nero, I want you to come back to Devil May Cry. I – don’t think you should be alone.”

“I’m not alone though, am I,” he sniffed, increasing his pace down the hall.

“And that’s exactly why I want you to stay with me. Look. This is a lot for me too.” Nero stopped, tilting his head back toward the lofty ceiling. ‘A lot’ was putting it lightly. He didn’t know if he could hear how Dante was feeling right then, he was only just hanging on by a thread himself. “I can give you a couple hours to yourself if you want. Catch the ferry with me back to the mainland. We can even wait till tomorrow to talk, but I can’t – I can’t just _leave_ you now. Please. I’m not tryna piss you off kid, I’m kinda losing my mind here a little bit if you couldn’t already tell.”

Nero took a quaking breath, stamping the overwhelming tangle of emotions back down. If he could just hold it together until he got back to his room.

“Okay,” he conceded. “You’re right.”

“Thank you, Nero.” He could hear Dante running a hand over his face behind him, scratching on the white stubble. “Are you gonna be alright walking back?”

“Unless you’re gonna try and chop my leg off next, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, kid. Next ferry’s in four hours, so I’ll meet you there?”

“Yeah.”

///

The silence was thick enough to feel. Vergil still hadn’t made a sound, like a little child hiding behind their reticence after being scolded. Nero himself couldn’t even think about what he was going to say. He didn’t really think about anything on the way back into town; at least, his mind was so busy that it felt like nothing at all. People moved out of his way and glared after him as he went, but they may as well have been part of the scenery for all the attention he could give them.

Once back at the house Nero followed the sound of music to the kitchen, where Kyrie had her hands in a floury mixing bowl. He slapped on a fake smile and greeted his sister as nonchalantly as he could.

“Nero! You’re back early. The biscuits aren’t ready yet – well, obviously!” She lifted one of her doughy hands up. “You’re only allowed _one_ remember; the rest are for the festival planners.”

“Alright,” he agreed teasingly, surprised that his voice was so level. “Hey, I called Dante earlier…because I left something behind at his place. And he said that he could do with a little help on his next job. I know it’s only been a few days, but I-I thought I’d go back to the mainland and lend a hand. If that’s okay.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Nero. You can come and go as you please.” Kyrie shook her head at him. “I’m glad you’ve found a place for yourself out there- what’s the matter?” she asked suddenly, leaning back from her kneading to squint at him.

“W-what? Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine.”

“There’s a rip in your coat sleeve.”

“- There is?” he asked a little too theatrically. At least Yamato left a nice clean cut to sew along. “Yeah, anyway, I’m gonna go get started on the packing.” He jabbed his thumb toward the stairs and backed out of the kitchen before Kyrie could ask him something else. But once he started up the stairs the tightness in his chest returned full force. Time to confront Vergil.

As soon as he set foot in his room, he closed the door. Kyrie’s music could still be heard faintly from downstairs, hopefully it would mask the sound of his voice from her.

He stood there for a long moment, eyes screwed shut.

“Tell me the truth. _Please_ ,” Nero began. _No more bullshit_. “…Were you ever going to tell me?”

 _‘…No.’_ The teen huffed humourlessly.

“Did you ever expect me to find out?”

_‘No.’_

“Well. I did.”

 _‘Yes.’_ Nero waited for a beat, gripping each hand onto the opposite bicep to stop them from trembling.

“Are you even sorry?” He felt his heart clench painfully when he didn’t get a reply. “Vergil?”

_‘I am. Know that I never did it to hurt you. I thought that the lie…would be easier.’_

“Easier?” Nero didn’t even know what to say to that. _Easier?!_ What he wanted to do was _scream_ , tell Vergil how much he hurt anyway and that he felt completely betrayed by the first person he’d ever truly trusted. The truth of the lie didn’t hurt as much as the _lie_.

Instead of all that, uncrossed his mismatched arms and fished his backpack out from under the bed. He needed a distraction, or he was going to explode. Distraction is good. Folding clothes is good. He’ll take enough for a few days, take Blue Rose and Red Queen, take a toothbrush, take Vergil’s old green book- “Y’know what?” the teen erupted suddenly, throwing his hands up from fussing with the packing, “Y’know _what?_ If you’d just told me at the start, I would’ve kept your damn secret. I-I would’ve lied to Dante, just like I’ve already _been_ lying to him for you, because we’re fucking stuck together and you’re my friend and I love you!” He didn’t care that he’d raised his voice, if Kyrie heard then so be it. “You’re a shitty, _shitty_ fucking friend but I still would’ve lied for you! If you’d told me back then I wouldn’t’ve given a _shit_ who you were related to! But now it’s been _months_ of you lying to my fucking face every second of every day that I’ve spent with Dante and it’s a huge fucking thing that you two got me in the middle of and maybe it wouldn’t even be so bad if I knew I what I was in in the first place!”

Nero stopped to heave a few deep breaths after half suffocating himself with the rant. “So…so hearing you say sorry isn’t enough. Sucks for you that you’re stuck with someone that you just don’t trust or whatever, but you better start acting like we’re in this together because we _are_.”

Back to packing. Vergil made the tiniest, near imperceptible hum while he digested Nero’s words. The teen got through folding another two shirts before he got his rebuttal.

 _‘I could not have told you the truth,’_ Vergil affirmed _. ‘I had no right to ask you to bear a secret of such weight. I also did not wish to…_ influence _your relationship with Dante, to make you perceive him as an outsider – I would never want you to feel like we have to conspire against him. It is not us versus him.’_

Nero hated that he could see Vergil’s point. _Saviour_ , did he hate it. But it didn’t make it any better.

He glowered down at where he was fiddling with the fraying hem of a knitted jumper.

“You still lied to me.”

_‘Yes. Your loyalty to me is misplaced, but…thank you. I do trust you, Nero. You are…a good friend.’_

As much as he wished the contrary, the words didn’t alleviate the tightness in his chest.

“Yeah, I know.”

///

Dante’s presence at the harbour had cleared every Fortunian out of the area like a poisonous smog. No one would have forgotten when he burst into the Grand Cathedral and blasted Sanctus point-blank in the face, the recent events still fresh in everyone’s mind. Nero sighed at the fear he could practically smell permeating the streets, almost feeling sorry for the Fortunians the same way someone might feel pity for a herd of deer catching the scent of a tiger prowling nearby. Dante’s crimson coat was just as striking as the beautiful fur coat of the big cat against the limestone town.

The hunter was watching the workmen mill around the docked ferry, but his body resting against the railing was angled toward Nero’s approach. He wondered briefly if the cambion could sense his presence from halfway across town. Dante looked over and nodded once Nero was within earshot, and the teen grimaced.

“You look like shit.” Nero knew that Dante rarely slept, but this was the first time that he actually looked like it too. There were bags under his blue eyes, made all the worse by how pale he now appeared. Kyrie had said the same about himself, earlier.

“Feel like shit,” Dante replied, lifting an apple up the way one would raise a glass in cheers.

“Where did you get that?” the teen bemoaned.

“There was a table in the street with tons of food on it.” Nero dug the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“That’s for the harvest festival.” Was Dante really wandering the streets, scaring everyone to death and chasing them off, then stealing their food? Who just takes food from an abandoned stall?! The man could probably be lured into an iron maiden if there was something to eat inside, he was sure. “It doesn’t matter, can we just get on the fucking boat?”

“After you.” The apple core was tossed across the harbour to land in a flowerbed.

Nero led the way up the gangplank, but something in him protested against turning his back on the devil hunter who’d caused him grievous bodily harm earlier that very same day. Dante flashed the tickets at the personnel who were more interested in their MP3 than admitting the only two passengers, letting them board with a jerk of their head at the door. The teen took his usual seat under the heater, Dante taking the place facing him. He obviously wasn’t interested in making small talk, spreading his arms across the back of the bench, and leaning his head right back to close his eyes. Honestly, Nero didn’t want small talk either. He wanted answers.

 _The Fortune_ loaded up, blared the foghorn and backed out of the harbour. Once they had been chugging along for a good quarter hour, swaying on open water, Nero decided to bite the bullet.

“So,” he announced loud enough to rouse Dante, who raised his head and squinted at him as though he’d been woken from a deep sleep. “Vergil’s your brother?”

“Unfortunately.” Dante’s voice was rough – _had_ he actually been sleeping? Nero waited for more, tapping the claws of his Bringer against his opposite arm expectantly. “Oh – _now?_ You wanna talk now?”

“No, I just thought I’d bring it up for a laugh.” The hunter doesn’t acknowledge the sarcasm, sitting himself up straight and attentive and clearing his throat.

“Alright.” There’s a beat of silence while they wait for the other to speak first. Nero had no idea what to lead with, even after spending the previous four hours with nothing but the subject on his mind, so he’s lucky when Dante beats him to the punch. “You’re not possessed. It’s not - you two are…connected somehow. I dunno what it is, but you’re not possessed.” The teen shrugs, a little unsure how to answer, a little unsure if it really matters. “How did it happen? Did the Order…?” The hunter makes a gesture towards him, and he knew that he was implying that it was the result of one of the Order’s weird demonic experiments.

“No. It. Just sort of happened. After my arm…I started hearing him.”

“What happened to your arm?” Dante asked bluntly. Nero shrugged again.

“Got into a fight with some demon and it just – changed.”

“How long ago was that?”

“…Eight months,” the teen mumbles after some quick maths.

“Oh shit. Longer than I thought.” The hunter mulls over that for a moment, then glances at Nero’s Devil Bringer. “…Can he hear us now?”

“Yes. But I told him to keep his mouth shut.”

“And he listens to you?”

“No.” Dante huffs and nods absently, giving Nero a chance to ask something and cutting in when he continues to say nothing.

“I’m guessing he never told you much.”

“No shit,” Nero scoffed. And, before he could stop himself, “I thought I knew him pretty well…But obviously not.” After spending literally every second of every day together in an inexplicable way for so long, it was a wonder to him how little he actually did know about his companion. “He pretended you were complete strangers.” If the hunter was offended or surprised by that, he didn’t show it. “But it kinda makes sense now that I know…I mean, some of the things he said…”

“All bad things, I expect.”

“No. Not all of it,” Nero told him truthfully. Vergil was always lauding his abilities, even if he insulted him twice as often. That did surprise Dante to hear, the hunter casting him a sceptical little look. “He does call you an idiot a lot, though.”

“Figures,” Dante breathed, and if he didn’t know any better Nero would’ve thought he was trying to supress a smile.

“What the Hell happened?” Nero blurts suddenly. Dante raises his brows and frowns.

“…Can you be more specific?”

“No. I wanna know everything. All of it.”

“It’s a long story, kid. A _long_ story.”

“Sorry, you got somewhere to be? Just – start at the beginning.”

“You wanna know everything?” Dante says, moreso to himself. The cambion looks out the window at the ocean briefly and turns back with a sigh, launching into it without preamble or emotion. “We were born in Red Grave. You already know our mother was human, and our father was…well, you already know that too. We…were separated, when our parents died. We weren’t very old…and, uh, when we finally met again, we were around your age.” Nero didn’t move a muscle, not wanting to disrupt the tale. “We didn’t exactly see eye to eye. Never really did. We fought a lot. Vergil went back to the Underworld, and I never saw him again.”

“You haven’t seen him since you were my age?” Dante faltered visibly, scrambling to explain somehow.

“Not exactly…I saw…a creature in the Underworld.” Something strange happened to his voice, and he cleared his throat to try and disguise it. “It wasn’t him. Until I killed it.” Dante shrugged quickly. “I thought he was dead, until a few hours ago.”

Nero sat back, watching the red devil closely. It didn’t take a genius to know that he’d given the bare bones, watered down version of events, and that there was a great deal that he was omitting. Being forthcoming was apparently not a family trait. He wanted to ask the hunter why he was withholding so much, but when he opened his mouth his heart decided on something else.

“He’s dying.” It was Nero’s turn to clear his throat. “He said he’s been sick for years. Got some kinda injury he can’t heal.” Dante turned his gaze back from the window slowly, and the hybrid couldn’t tell quite what his expression meant. “He told me there was nothing anyone could do.” Realising that he was giving the news that his only miraculously living estranged family member was dying, he hastily tacked on, “Uh, sorry.”

“I’ve been making my peace with his death since I was a kid,” Dante muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vergil_and_Dante_refuse_to_share_during_group_therapy.doc
> 
> Lemme know what you thought, and thank you all for your support! <3


	19. Coping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long gap between updates, sorry about that. There's been even more on my plate to deal with, but without further ado!
> 
> This one's all about the interpersonal interactions instead of the action, but that's my favourite to write. Hope you enjoy, and thank you all for the continued support!
> 
> Also, 420 kudos! OMG you guys!!!

Dante wasn’t the kind of creature that ever had to spend time on tenterhooks. He was the apex predator of any world, realm, or dimension he could possibly find himself in. Demons were easy prey – he was so powerful; he’d even defeated a God. There was nothing in this world or the next that was any threat to him, nothing he was afraid of.

Apart from one thing. _Vergil_.

So, suffice it to say that his brother’s by-proxy presence made him feel…uneasy. Among other things. If Dante were a cat, he’d be tiptoeing around Devil May Cry with his ears back and his hackles squarely up. His nephew was, of course, always welcome; and Dante tried to keep acting it to stop Nero from feeling out of place. He must have been able to convey the sentiment well enough, because the kid had been staying there for weeks now, the longest stretch he’d ever been over for.

It hadn’t been easy at first, though. The first night of the impromptu visit Dante had crept into the spare room while Nero was fast asleep and leant in to whisper to his right arm,

“Verge, if you hurt him, I’m gonna make you wish you’d never clawed your way back to life,” and promptly left. The blue glow of the arm and rippled and pulsed at him, like Vergil were bristling and desperately trying to convey some comeback through it.

The next morning Nero made it clear that he wasn’t intending on letting Dante tell him what they were going to do as he usually did; he struck out on his own without more than a ‘see ya’ over his shoulder as he left. Usually, Dante would be glad that Nero was feeling confident enough to occupy himself in the big city, but a nagging voice at the back of his mind kept telling him _not Nero, Nero_ and _Vergil_. What kind of demon hunter and protector of mankind would he be if he let that menace to humanity wander around unsupervised, even if it was as a disembodied voice inside a teenager’s head?

So, he had no choice but to follow Nero around at an undetectable distance while he toured Red Grave. Dante wasn’t particularly _expecting_ the teen to be doing anything nefarious, but his walk around the park and some of the woodland on the city outskirts was so entirely innocent that Dante felt like an asshole for even thinking he needed to stalk him in the first place. Nero had meandered around the streets, then sat on a park bench for a while watching the people go by, then made a loop through the woods and followed his nose to a food van, and pushed himself lightly on a swing in a deserted playground while he ate his bacon sandwich. Dante did notice from his vantage point on a roof several streets away that Nero was talking to himself – or more accurately to Vergil – but he knew it was high-time he get himself back to Devil May Cry and leave his poor nephew to it.

Nero returned soon after, in a happier (but still markedly subdued) mood and vying for some leftover pizza. Dante was good at pretending, so he slapped on a smile for the kid. Fake it till you make it, right? He couldn’t let his emotions affect his behaviour towards Nero. He deserved to still feel welcome, and loved, no matter what Dante thought of the soul attached to his own. He just needed to keep reminding himself of that.

///

Things were different now. Not so much that Nero could say everything had changed, or that they could never be the same, but certainly different. Eventually he and Dante got back to talking without the awkwardness that had been plaguing them, though Vergil was quiet while under the roof of Devil May Cry – which is one of the reasons why Nero spent most days going out by himself, so they could talk. Things hadn’t changed much between him and his devil (after the initial discomfort), at least.

As long as it stayed that way, Nero felt that he could shoulder anything else.

Even something as jarring as Dante’s dead mother walking through the door.

Nero and Dante had switched places that particular afternoon, with the teen behind the desk to answer all the calls that rarely came in, so he saw her the second she sauntered in. His Bringer warned him of the approaching demon, but he could hardly care when he was looking right at a ghost. Vergil made a strange noise at the sight of her as well, the kind of sound someone would make if they turned a stone and found a viper underneath it.

“Trish!” Dante called from his spot on the chesterfield, spreading his arms welcomingly. “What a surprise! Er, Lady didn’t send you for the money, did she?”

“I’m not here to play debt collector – not today, anyway.” The demoness swept her long, wavy hair over a pale shoulder and cast her eyes over the mess (or relative lack thereof) of Devil May Cry. In the moment she was distracted Dante made very deliberate eye contact with Nero, holding up his right arm, pointing to it and drawing his hand quickly across his neck in the charade that Nero understood as _don’t say anything about Vergil_. The hybrid almost pointed at the framed picture of his mother in question, but now obviously wasn’t the time.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company, then?”

“Stop trying to be cute,” ‘Trish’ shot back, her heels clicking on the floor as she approached the hunter. She pulled some small sheaves of paper from the back pocket of her extremely tight leather trousers and handed them over. Dante took the proffered papers and squinted at them, flicking through the stack quickly.

“Morrison’s job receipts?”

“Yes. All for jobs that you have recently done.”

“Is this some weird way of telling me I should be good for the money?”

“No, this is some weird way of telling you that I always get to the truth.” Maybe Nero was imagining things, but it seemed to him that Dante was making a valiant effort not to look his way. “I read the names of these demons. Seems a little strange to me that you wouldn’t mention the sudden appearance of the Malebranche around Red Grave to anyone.”

“…Oh, _that!”_ Trish rolled her eyes. “Yeah, must’ve slipped my mind.”

“ _Dante_ -”

“Why are you stressing out babe? I got it under control – obviously.” He waved the receipts at her, proof of the demons he’d killed.

“Forgive me for being a little paranoid when the hunter who loves to boast is suddenly quiet about the emergence of a threat -”

“They’re not threatening! C’mon, even Nero managed to take one of ‘em down.” Dante pointed over to him, most likely as a distraction, and the teen realised it wasn’t meant as a compliment.

“Hey!”

“Nero,” Trish turned to him as if suddenly remembering he was there. The stern look had dropped from her beautiful face, but Nero still found himself pinned in place by her green gaze. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Again?” he asked lamely. They’d met before? He did sort of recognise her voice…but from where? Trish chuckled.

“I suppose you don’t recognise me out of my disguise.” She gestured to her clothing with a flourish of her hand.

“Disguise – Gloria?!” _What the heck is going on here?_

“Well remembered. I hope Dante isn’t teaching you any bad habits.” Nero’s eyes flickered to the pizza boxes on the desk and back.

“…No.”

“I see. Just don’t start wearing red – I’d hate for Lady to shoot you thinking its him.” And with that, the demoness departed with a dainty wave over her shoulder. Dante let out an exaggerated sigh of relief once the door had closed behind her.

“Phew! That went well. If you weren’t here, she definitely woulda been kicking my ass!”

“Uh-huh. Uh…Wasn’t that your mom?” Dante and Vergil both snorted in unison, though Vergil’s was more of a scoff.

“No! Heh, I guess that freaked you out, huh? No, Trish was made to look just like her by a demon. Obviously, his plan didn’t pan out because he’s gone and we’re friends.”

“Friends? Is that why she was gonna kick your ass?”

“I have weird friends.” _No shit_.

“Should I be worried about that demon thing she mentioned?”

“ _Naaaaaaah_ , like I said, we got it under control. If anything, it’s a _good_ thing; giving you some practice on a challenge.”

Nero was about to comment how a challenge for him probably spelled danger for the humans in the area when the rotary phone _brrrrring_ ed to life. He scrambled to answer it; his first ever call taken for the business. Dante had already run him through what to do, and it sounded simple enough – give the name, ask for the password, and jot down the details of the job.

“Devil May Cry,” he introduced smoothly, catching the thumbs up that Dante gave him in his peripheries.

“Oh, Nero!” Another familiar voice, and the teen knew she wasn’t a client.

“Hey, Lady.” Dante ducked suddenly as though a sniper had him in their sights through the window.

“I’m not here!” the hunter whisper-hissed.

“Has Dante already got you doing the one job he has at the office? He’s so lazy he collects dust!” she tutted. “Anyway, is he there?”

“ _No!”_ Dante reminded him. Nero looked him right in the eye with a wicked smile and replied,

“Yeah, he’s right here. I’ll hand you over.” The near cartoonish look of utter betrayal he received was definitely worth it, as was the equally wicked chuckle from Vergil. He heard Lady blow him a kiss through the phone before changing her tone to grill Dante in a very similar way that Trish had just minutes before. Nero pushed up from the desk to let the hunter take his rightful place and settle down on the sofa himself. Dante held a palm over the receiver to grumble something to him about everyone ganging up on him as Nero passed by.

Vergil’s old book on Iaijutsu was just small enough to be squeezed into the inner pocket of the teen’s jacket, and he thought it convenient that he’d slotted it in there earlier as he wiggled it out to pass time during Dante’s phone call.

Nero had never read so much in his life as he had after Vergil came into it. There wasn’t much by way of interesting reading material on Fortuna. Though he knew Vergil could speed read like a demon – literally – he never felt like he was being judged when he read at his own pace, or even when he zoned out and reread the same passage over and over. Vergil was probably glad for the peace and quiet that reading allowed; Nero would otherwise be spending his downtime playing video games or blasting music into their ears.

At the desk Dante rummaged through the drawers for a pen, pulling up his shirt sleeve to scrawl something along his forearm. Nero made the mistake of getting distracted by the hunter’s fussing, which earnt him a gentle scolding from Vergil.

 _‘It’s rude to eavesdrop.’_ His eyes snapped back to the pages.

“I wasn’t…” he mumbled under his breath, quiet enough to keep it between the two of them. He still hadn’t built up the nerve to talk to Vergil in front of Dante. It was just too - weird. Even so he could feel Dante’s attention on him whenever he was silent for too long, as though the hunter could _feel_ them colluding under his nose.

Or maybe he was still simply curious about the connection the teen and his long-lost brother held.

Suitably lost in his reading again, Nero didn’t notice when the call with Lady ended.

_Tap._

Or when Dante began drumming the pen he’d been using on the edge of his desk.

_Tap._

But someone else certainly did.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap._

_‘Please make him stop.’_

Nero flicked his gaze over to the offending party. He himself wasn’t really irritated by it – it was white noise till his devil brought it up. The thought of telling Dante to quit it didn’t sit with him right, either; not only was it Dante’s house that he’d taken him into, but Credo used to snap at him to stop drumming his fingers or his leg and it used to make him feel like shit.

_Tap. Tap. Tap. ‘Nero .’_

“…Can you…stop tapping your pen, please?”

“Vergil told you to say that, didn’t he,” Dante fired immediately. _Wha - how?!_

“No…” Not at all convincing, but Nero’s reaction was answer enough either way.

 _‘Don’t – say_ that _, he’ll just do it more.’_ They waited with bated breath, but despite what Vergil asserted, the hunter didn’t continue. There was a lull in the noise that let the joined pair focus back on the _1400_ book.

 _Tap_.

 _‘What did I say?’ Tap. Tap. ‘_ Please. _’_

“Vergil says can you stop tapping your pen _please_.”

“What, am I annoying him?”

“Guess so.”

“Good.” _Tap._

_‘Dear God, I’m eight again.’_

“Dante stop tapping, Vergil stop complaining,” Nero ordered, settling back into the chesterfield. There. Back to reading.

There was just a little less than half to go of the old book, he could really see why Vergil had recommended it –

 _Click_. Nero snapped his head up to see Dante’s thumb poised over the butt of the pen. Vergil groaned and stifled a cough. “Are you fucking kidding me, dude?”

“I can’t help it!” Dante shrugged and looked very much like he could help it. “He shouldn’t’ve said anything, I’m compelled to annoy him!”

_‘Get us closer, I’ll stab him.’_

“What am I, you guys’ babysitter? One or both of you, _stop!”_ Nero held his hands out like he was trying to halt two bulls charging at each other, and made the grave mistake of thinking that was enough and focussing back on _1400._

_Click._

“Right, I’m outta here.” Nero shot up to his feet, replacing the book in his pocket on the way to the door. Dante was snickering to himself the whole while, giving the teen a little wave as he was pulling on his coat and getting the middle finger in return. “Better put that pen away or you’re getting stabbed with it.”

“Ciao!”

The air was crisp that afternoon, the approach of autumn heralded in the cooling air and the browning of the leaves. Nero kicked one such leaf from the steps of Devil May Cry as he made his escape, huffing.

“Saviour, he’s so annoying.”

_‘I was already well aware. Try being stuck with him for eight years, then you can start complaining.’_

“He couldn’t’ve been that bad _all_ the time.”

 _‘You’d be surprised.’_ Nero chuckled. It was pretty easy for him to imagine a little Dante trying to antagonise his brother. And judging by the fact that it took perhaps less than a minute for Vergil to get pissed off just now, it wasn’t very hard for him to do. Now that Nero knew they were siblings he had a lot of questions. If only he could ask Dante without Vergil being privy too.

“So, are you the younger brother or the older one?” He would’ve hazarded a guess at older, just because he seemed more mature.

_‘Older…technically. We shared the womb.’_

“You’re twins?!” That was…sort of a big deal. Now Nero had even more questions. Just what happened to them? How do two _twins_ end up so alienated from each other?

 _‘Unfortunately,’_ Vergil sighed, as though it were the ultimate burden.

“You look just like him, then?” Of all the things to focus on, of course he goes for that first. Nero couldn’t help it; he’d been thinking about it since they’d met, and he needed to know. It would be nice to have a good reference for his appearance…just – just for his curiosity’s sake.

_‘I haven’t seen my reflection in years. I imagine I’m not looking too clever nowadays.’_

“ _But_ …?” Nero prompted.

 _‘_ But _, I know that we used to be identical.’_

“Identical.” That was harder to imagine than them as children. _Exactly_ the same as Dante? Nero tried to do it; picture Dante but without the smirk and labelling in his mind as Vergil. _Weird_. “Did you ever do that thing where you try to trick people into thinking you’re the other one? Or do twins not really do that?”

_‘I think we were too dissimilar even as children to manage that. Our parents would not have been fooled.’_

“Why not?”

 _‘Our father could smell which one of us was which, and our mother…knew us too well.’_ Nero nodded. It was the first time Vergil had ever mentioned his parents, and he could tell by the hollowness in his recounting that it wasn’t something he did lightly. It was surprising that his demon had even spoken on the subject at all. A few months ago, Vergil would’ve just deflected if not given him the cold shoulder over such a personal matter, ignoring him completely.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to…I-I know it’s kinda personal…” he dithered, scratching his nose.

_‘Nero, you should know by now that I’m not forthright about things I’d rather be kept secret.’_

“Yeah, I guess,” the teen mumbled. Vergil was more than willing to take his relation to Dante to the grave with him, until it was forced into the light.

 _‘I suppose…it’s nice to think about a time when I was…happier.’ Happy?_ Nero thought sceptically, _it sounds like that was painful to even admit_. Vergil sighed softly. _‘And I know if you’d ask Dante about it, he’d give you his,_ incorrect _, version of events. I won’t allow it.’_ Nero laughed and the woman walking toward him on the street gave him a strange look and crossed the road. _Happy. I like the sound of that_.

There was something else he wanted to broach now that he thought about it, and it seemed like the perfect time to spring it on the devil.

“It must be kinda weird to meet Trish…” Nero ventured carefully. Vergil hummed to himself distantly.

_‘…Actually I’ve met her before.’_

“You have?”

_‘Hmm, it just occurred to me. My memory of then is foggy, but…yes, our paths crossed many years ago.’_

“Small world.” Nero was glad that he didn’t sound too disturbed by her. _He_ would be…if he ever knew his mother, lost her, and then met her doppelganger.

 _‘Small_ under _world, to be precise. She will not remember me, though. I…was not quite myself, then.’_

“How do you mean?” How can someone _not_ remember an encounter with Vergil? Especially if he looked like his brother.

_‘It’s a long and rather pitiful story. Perhaps I’ll tell you some other time.’_

“Alright.”

Nero stopped at a street corner and waited for a beat. There was a little someone he’d managed to befriend in this neighbourhood, and as if on cue he heard a tinkling bell signalling their arrival. A black cat came running up to him, the only cat who didn’t run away from the hybrid on sight. He’d never pet a cat before, with them being afraid of him, and Vergil had quipped about how black cats were seen as a bad omen on the mainland when he’d brought it up. Nero had told him that _he_ was seen as a bad omen on Fortuna, so this was definitely his kind of kitty.

He gave the creature the usual three strokes, with his Bringer so Vergil could feel the fur too, and carried on his way.

 _‘You know, I’ve met Lady once before too.’_ Nero wasn’t expecting _that_ , and by the way Vergil clipped the end of his sentence, he probably wasn’t expecting to come out with it either.

“Really?!”

 _‘Now_ that _was a long time ago. I wasn’t much older than you.’_

“Would she remember you?”

 _‘Yes,’_ he insisted firmly. _‘That’s a long story too, but suffice it to say that…she was not my biggest fan. Best not mention it to her, I think.’_

“You know everyone.” Vergil seemed to know the name of every demon they came across, as well as Dante’s friends. Before meeting the hunter, Nero could probably count the number of names he knew on his fingers.

_‘Not quite.’_

They stopped talking as they approached a group of young adults waiting at a bus post, all of them dressed strangely even by mainland standards. Each of them were wearing entirely black with dyed black hair, silver chains and studs and leather coats between them all. _They part of some kinda club or something?_

Nero looked resolutely at the floor, which usually discouraged people from interacting with him. Not this time, though.

“Hey!” one of them called out as he passed, friendly enough. The guy pointed at him excitedly, and he felt himself tense for confrontation. “It’s you! You’re that devil kid!” Nero faltered, and the guy took it as a sign to continue. “Yeah, you killed that thing in my aunt’s garden. You broke the wall of her summer house, remember?”

He did remember. That was just a fortnight ago. Dante had let him take the reins on another neighbourhood-funded hunt for pests, and the slimy little rat thing had led him on a warpath through their back gardens. And he wouldn’t call it a summer house, as he remembered it was more of a shed with furniture inside. Either way, he’d had his pay docked to reimburse her for the damages. “I was watching you fight from her kitchen – I’ve never seen anything like it! That thing you did with your arm,” the guy makes a snatching motion with his own to illustrate, “- hey, show us your arm. They didn’t believe me about it when I told them.” The others zeroes their eyelinered attention on him, waiting for the spectacle.

Instead Nero did the opposite, tucking his Bringer in the folds of his coat, his face burning. He decided not to humour the stranger any longer and scurried off. “Alright, have a nice night Devil Kid!” the guy called after him. _Well, I fucking hate that nickname._

 _‘What it is to be popular,’_ Vergil mused sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what you thought of this one in the comments! I hope it wasn't too filler chapter-y :)


	20. The Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone's supportive comments and kudos on this fic! <3

“Left! No, kid, the other left!”

“There’s only one left!”

What was supposed to be another hunt quickly became an impromptu practice on Nero’s dodging and deflecting skills, as the demon was moving too damn fast for him to get a good hit in. The thing was big and reptilian, like a lot of demons, but Nero thought it was more like an armadillo than anything. No sooner had they spotted it in the remote farmer's field than it had curled itself into a perfect ball and sprouted long spines all over its body. If that weren’t annoying enough, the spines were apposable, so they could flash around like lightening to strike, _and_ the demon could roll around pretty fast at the same time.

Dante stood off to the side, leaning on Rebellion, trying to give directions that ended up being more confusing than helpful. Nero was holding his own well enough and still having fun with it, but he just could not get the damn thing. For each spine he bat away he had to dodge another incoming two, making offensive moves difficult to pull off. When he did manage to slip Red Queen into a gap the sword was met with tough armour.

“Keep hitting the same spot, maybe you can break the spikes.”

“ _How_ am I supposed to tell where the same spot is?! I – woah!” he jumped out of the way of another spine, the tips of them all now thoroughly muddied from the field they were tearing up.

_‘Pay attention!’_ Vergil hissed.

“Will Yamato be able to break these things?”

_‘She’ll do better than your sword, but whether you’ll be strong enough to shatter them…’_

“Worth a try.” Nero gave himself some room and called on the Devil Arm, slinging Red Queen back over his shoulder at the same time. There wasn’t any time for him to fumble over the foreign technique Vergil had been tutoring him in, he was just going to go in swinging. A tried-and-true method.

Yamato made the spines tremble as she bore down on them, and the hybrid took that as a good sign. The demon spoke, though it was muffled while it was curled up, and in a strange language besides, but Nero could understand it was an exclamation of panic when it started to wheel around erratically instead of the focussed charges it was making before. That made things easier.

Nero struck wherever he could, making the demon recoil each time. The spines were locked stiff and were starting to retract as he hit them, letting him get closer than before. _Once I’m down to the armour its over for this fucker._

But getting closer was a mistake. Nero got one single strike against the hard shell protecting the creature, and the spines flew back out at once. The tip of one speared him clean through the shoulder, staggering him. He grunted and pulled himself off and away before he got hit by any more.

“You’re still in it, kid!” Dante cheered from the side-line, his enthusiasm sounding slightly more forced now that the teen had gotten hurt. The injury was to his right shoulder, his hold on the Yamato drooping with the pain and muscle damage. Smelling blood, the furious ball spun on a dime forcing him to lift the Yamato to block more spines, each blow sending a white-hot bolt through his shoulder.

_‘Call Dante -’_

“No, I can do it,” Nero grit out. He gripped the katana with both hands to ward of the hail of spikes, feeling the blood from his aggravated wound run down his armpit. A strike _whooshed_ past his head, close enough to ruffle his hair.

_‘Nero, back down and let Dante assist you. You’re going to get yourself hurt!’_

“No, I -” Another spine pierced him just below the navel, his insistence that he was able to handle it himself cut short. This time wasn’t as deep, but it was enough to throw him off.

_‘You stubborn child!’_ Relief from the pain washed over him suddenly, his skin prickling. A blue phantom Yamato swung over his shoulder, cracking several spines with ease. Vergil had forced his Trigger again. It was almost insulting how easy it was for his devil to cleave through the opponent’s defences, even splitting the main shell of armour before it could recoil. Blood gushed out of the fissure with the pressure of a geyser, spraying out and crystalising on the ground. The demon finally unravelled, splayed on its side and trying to drag its limp bottom half along. Vergil had snapped its spine.

“AGHH! DAMN YOU, SPARDA!” it bellowed. Nero felt Vergil fade from behind him and stepped in to finish the job. There was no resistance from the demon besides a deep, slathering snarl and a desperate slash of claws that were easily side stepped. With his shoulder healed, Nero was able to put all his weight behind a swing that separated the creature’s head from its body. It began to disintegrate, red crystals pouring into his Bringer along with the Yamato.

After the injuries, the Yamato, and the sudden Trigger, he was bone tired.

“Nicely done, kid.” Dante came up behind him and gave him a clap on the back.

“I hardly _did_ anything.”

“That’s not true, you were slashing away there for a while.”

“Until I got stabbed.”

“If getting stabbed makes you a bad hunter, then I’d better throw in the towel. Seriously." Dante planted a hand on his head and mussed his hair obnoxiously hard, ignoring the teen’s sharp protests. “C’mon kid, let’s get out of here.”

///

Nero almost fell as he slipped off the back of the motorbike, dragging his feet all the way into Devil May Cry, with Dante close behind herding him straight to the stairs.

“Go sleep it off, kiddo. I’ll wake you up when the pizza’s here.” The teen shuffled his way up and along the hall, yawning. The little spare room at the back of Devil May Cry wasn’t spare anymore – it had undoubtedly become _his_. Even after being cleaned the bedsheets smelled like him, as did the heavy velvet curtain. What few belongings he brought from Fortuna had found a home around the space. Maintenance equipment and parts for Red Queen and Blue Rose were arranged atop the chest of drawers, his books were piled on the bedside table, a spare jacket and scarf hung on a decorative peg on the back of the door. Dante had dug up an old wingback accent chair that Nero sat at the vanity in, to read by the light of a thick candle. He thought the chair was ugly with the brown and green flowery upholstery, but it was comfortable and gave the room more of a lived-in feel. Yes, this was definitely his room.

Nero toed his boots off, falling heavily onto the bed. He didn’t bother changing his clothes, just removing his coat, and slipping beneath the duvet with a contented sigh.

“I haven’t napped during the day since I was a little kid,” he confessed to his devil. Back at the orphanage they were given an hour to sleep after lunch, though the other kids used to use the hour to giggle to each other from their beds when the matrons were out of earshot. They didn’t talk to Nero, so he just slept. “Y’know, I used more energy when the Hellgates opened than in the fight earlier, but I still kept going all day without resting…I guess the stakes were higher, though. Or maybe I really am getting too soft…Dante’s junk food diet is catching up to me or something, I dunno.” Nero chuckled and yawned again, pulling the duvet up under his chin. “Thanks for the help back there. You were right. _Again_ ,” he huffed. “This is when you say, ‘I’m always right’…Vergil?”

Nero brought his Bringer above the covers, as if the answer to his devil’s silence was written across his palm. It looked the same as it always did. “Vergil?” A plummeting sensation twists in his guts when he continues to receive no response. “ _Vergil_ ,” he barked, grabbing his demonic wrist in his other, sweating, hand. Nero took a breath and held it, straining to hear anything beyond the wild, agonised thumping of his heart.

Silence. Not even the breath, that had recently begun to rattle in the devil’s chest, was there. Nero released his own in a panicked cry, squeezing his wrist. _No. No no nonononono!_ “Vergil! Please – oh God!” The hybrid got half out of bed, ready to spring up, ready to run to Dante, to _anybody_ , for help; but found himself stuck in place. This couldn’t be happening. Not now, not yet, _he wasn’t ready Saviour please_ – he gagged on his next cry, biting hard on his tongue in an attempt to keep all the pained noises and bile trapped inside. This couldn’t be happening! Nero pried his jaw open enough to trap the flesh of his glowing palm between his teeth instead, desperate to feel proof that he was still intact, and splitting the skin open on a sob.

Then –

_‘Nero…is that really necessary?’_ Nero fell onto his side like a puppet whose strings had been slashed, gasping. _‘Nero? What’s wrong?’_ Vergil saw the tears blurring his vision and heard him crying openly against the pillow. The teen couldn’t answer right away, overwhelmed by his fear and relief.

“I-I had a nightmare,” he stuttered out pathetically past his tears, like a child.

_‘Oh…well, was it really so bad as to warrant all this?’_

“Yes!”

_‘Right…you’re awake now, so try and calm yourself down.’_ Vergil was teetering between speaking softly and giving an order; clearly, he had never had to comfort someone who was bawling their eyes out before. Even so, Nero made a valiant effort to quiet down, sealing his mouth shut and tamping down the whimpers that still threatened to escape. His chest was burning, feeling raw and empty as if someone had scooped everything out of him. _‘There. Tuck yourself back in, now. Forget all these hysterics, little one.’_

Nero did as he was told, folding the duvet back over himself stiffly. He crossed his Bringer across his chest and held it there tightly with his other arm, over his heart. It was a wonder that Dante hadn’t heard his panic, for he would surely have come bursting in to check on him.

Lying comfortably on his back, buried under the quilt, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. The tears dried and the hiccupping of his ribs settled, leaving him to stare blankly at the hair-line cracks in the ceiling plaster.

“Vergil,” he breathed, needing to hear him speak again.

_‘Hm?’_ A small sound, but it was enough. Nero gulped around the lump in his throat. _‘Are you still afraid?’_ Vergil whispered, as if he were concerned that Nero wouldn’t get back to sleep if he were at full volume.

“Yes.” _But not of a nightmare_. “…You weren’t breathing,” he croaked quietly, shakily. The teen could hear his breath now, as his demon sucked in a crackling inhale and sighed it back out.

_‘I see.’_ Nero willed himself to keep his upset under wraps, but a few tears escaped him then. _‘Then there’s nothing I can say to assuage your pain. I will not lie to you about it. I woke up this time, but I may not the next.’_ A strange, shrill sound got lodged in the teen’s throat. _‘Don’t cry for me yet, Nero; I’m still here.’_

“I don’t want you to go,” Nero whispered.

_‘I know. I would stay if I could.’_

“Is it because of me? Is it because you had to help me, earlier?” He needed to ask and was fearful that he already knew the answer. If it was true, and Nero was leeching the life from him each time he used his power…It didn’t bear thinking about, but he did anyway.

_‘I chose to do that, not you.’_

“So it _is_ my fault.”

_‘No.’_

_“I don’t want you to go,”_ he repeated desperately, squeezing his Bringer’s forearm. Vergil tried to shush him through a fresh wave of tears, staying carefully quiet after they eventually dried up in the hopes that the hybrid would succumb to his exhaustion and fall asleep. He got his wish when Nero finally slipped under, breathing soft and heartrate calm under his demonic hand.

_‘I am sorry, Nero.’_

///

Nero’s circadian rhythm had always been diurnal, rigidly so with the schedule he kept on Fortuna growing up; it was understandably bizarre to wake up as the sun was setting. Fading orange light filtered in from behind the deep indigo curtain.

“Vergil?” he called out cautiously.

_‘You’ve been asleep for a few hours,’_ his devil informed him, though the dying light outside spoke to that. Nero sighed, relieved to hear his voice, and wriggled out from under the duvet, just this side of too warm after keeping his clothes on in bed _._ Now that the teen wasn’t tired, he could feel his hunger. He slipped out and shivered in the comparative cold of the hall, scuttling along to the front of the building. A little distraction was what he needed to stop himself dwelling on what happened earlier, and he knew just the guy.

“There he is!” Dante cheered as he descended the stairs. “For a second there I thought you were gonna sleep all the way through till morning.”

“You ordered without me?” Nero nodded to the takeout box on the corner of the desk, already pilfered.

“I went to wake you up but…well, I was told not to.” The teen gave him a puzzled look and Dante nodded toward his Bringer. “You know Verge can turn up the light show on that thing while you’re asleep? Damn near blinded me.” Dante squinted and passed a hand in front of his face. “Contrary to popular belief, I _can_ take a hint.”

_‘That remains to be proven.’_ Nero laughed, swiping the pizza box and plonking himself down on the chesterfield between the fridge and the cramped kitchen.

“Yeah, right.” Dante got up to fiddle with the jukebox, muttering almost-swears to himself when the old thing was too slow to respond. After the hunter thumped it much harder than he should have it slotted in a track and started playing, the volume low enough for casual listening.

Nero threw the box down on the coffee table, causing a stray paper to flutter up and away from a pile. He swiped it up, giving it a once over before he returned it to the pile. It was a job receipt, one of the ones Trish had brought in the other day. There was a lot of information on it for a small, A5 piece of paper – the name of the client, the location, the date, a series of numbers associated with a ‘database’; all boring business-y type stuff. But the more interesting, familiar stuff was typed up underneath.

HUNTER: SPARDA, Dante

CIRCLE: HIGH ORDER

I.D.: CALCABRINA

_I remember fighting this guy_. Nero picked up the lot, thumbing through them. Draghignazzo was there, the demon that he had taken down by himself in the park (although the document gave Dante credit). Ciriatto was there, the demon from the forest. But most of them Nero didn’t recognise, name or date. Some of them were just days apart, and two were even on the same day. Had Dante really taken all these big guys out in so little time? The teen counted them up quickly – ten.

_‘And Scarmiglione today makes eleven…’_ Vergil muttered to himself.

“Eleven,” Nero repeated, catching Dante’s attention.

“What’s that?” The teen waved the receipts at him.

“Who are these guys anyway? They’re all connected, right?- what are they called again?”

“The Malebranche?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“Didn’t think you were interested in Underworld politics.”

“You gonna tell me or what?”

“They are…dead now.”

“Fine,” Nero huffed. “Vergil who are they?”

_‘The Malebranche are a mob of demons that were handpicked by the ancient Demon King himself to enforce his rule. They pledged their souls to him and fought in his name in the Great War thousands of years ago,_ and _the Disseverance War centuries before that.’_

“Was that so hard?” Nero directed at Dante.

“Bet what he told you was wrong anyway,” the hunter grumbled into his magazine.

_‘We were lucky that they emerged one at a time. Even Dante may not have defeated all twelve of them at once.’_

“Twelve? So, there’s one left?”

_“Malacoda,”_ the twins said in perfect unison.

“I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, kid.” Dante snapped the magazine in his hands like a newspaper, putting a full stop on his part in the conversation. Not that he was being very forthcoming, anyway. Nero folded the receipts in half and pinned them under an ashtray that was likely there only for Morrison’s benefit.

_‘Malacoda is the leader of the Malebranche. As the strongest, and arguably the smartest, of them all he called the shots on behalf of the Demon King. I once heard a rumour that they were cousins, but I severely doubt the truth of such a statement. The grapevine is long reaching and twisted down here; you can’t believe half of what you hear.’_

“Cousins, huh.” _He must be tough if he’s related to the Prince of Darkness._

“That’s just a rumour,” Dante piped up, apparently knowing exactly what Nero was referring to.

“How do you guys find out about all this stuff, anyway?” Their knowledge of the Underworld and its denizens was practically encyclopaedic, especially when compared to his own.

“Oh, y’know. Through the grapevine.” Nero huffed. Sometimes it was like the brothers were reading off the same script, but he dare not say it aloud. He had a feeling they wouldn’t take it too well.

The teen relaxed back into the settee with his dinner, basking in the tentative return of normalcy – the three of them, sat together in Devil May Cry. Nero wished he could hit pause on the world somehow, just so things didn’t have to change.


	21. The Leader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!

Dante’s motorbike rumbled steadily under Nero, the prospect of driving it a little more daunting now that the ignition was on. The hunter had talked him through the basics - the throttle, the clutch, the shifter, the _brakes_ – and now it was time to get going, Nero was starting to think Vergil had a point. This _might_ be bad idea. But he was still going for it anyway. It was just a motorbike, what was the worst that could go wrong? He completely trashes it, leaving Dante with no transport and him footing the bill?

 _Maybe this_ is _a bad idea_.

“Okay kid, you’re good to go! Now, the speed limit here is thirty miles per hour, but it’s pretty much deserted ‘round here so go as fast as you want.”

 _‘Do not do that.’_ Dante stepped back to give him some room, and Nero cautiously ran through the steps he was given, engine live beneath him. Brake, clutch, first gear, release brake, throttle, release clutch. From a standstill the bike seemed to surge, and Nero hopped his right foot along to keep upright as he picked up speed. He didn’t have to keep it up long as he worked the throttle, shooting away from the front of Devil May Cry with a wary noise that quickly became a whoop of joy as the vehicle righted itself.

Nero zipped his way up the street, lifting the throttle to slow at the end and make an awkward turn and begin again. This time he let himself go faster, the roar of the motorbike almost drowning out his laughter and Dante’s pavement encouragement.

“This is great!”

_‘This thing is an accident waiting to happen.’_

The hybrid made several laps, increasing his speed each time. He made the mistake of taking a peek at the speedometer – 60MPH. _‘That’s fast enough, Nero.’_

“C’mon, that’s like half the top speed! Dante goes faster than this!” It was a wonder Vergil heard him at all over the bike and the whipping wind.

_‘Nero.’_

“Alright…” He pumped the brakes steadily and guided it back to the curb of Devil May Cry, vehicle stopping with a squeak.

“You did great, kid! You’re turning into a real _speed demon_ , huh,” Dante grinned at his own pun, and Nero tried to slap a grimace over his smile and failed.

“Thanks for the ride. That was fun.”

“Maybe you can apply for your licence. Take a few real lessons, you’ll pass in no time.”

“Getting tired of driving me around?”

“Hah! Aw, you saw right through me.” Nero hopped off the bike and carefully let the weight rest on the kickstand. He tossed to keys to Dante, who caught them – but he wasn’t looking at Nero. His gaze was trained unerringly over the buildings to the right, toward the city centre. Gone was the playful demeanour; Dante was stood ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists and jaw set.

“What is it?”

“Demon. I gotta go.” Dante turned on his heel and practically leapt back inside. Nero gaped, catching himself and stumbling to chase after him.

“Wait! What about me?”

“There’s no time to take you too.” _Dante’s…leaving me behind?_ Why? Dante brought Nero on every hunt, he never thought that there was a demon Nero couldn’t handle to the point of leaving him. He slipped up every now and then, sure, but hadn’t he proven himself capable? Did the last hunt leave Dante doubting him?

The hunter only had to retrieve Rebellion from behind his desk before he was ready to go. Nero planted himself in his path as best he could.

“Why not?”

“I’m flying, it’s quicker. Unless you want me to carry you?” Dante stepped around him, steps hurried and deliberate.

“Okay, then carry me! But you’re not leaving me behind.” Dante sighed and stopped long enough to jerk his head toward where Red Queen was resting by the coat hanger. Nero didn’t need to be told twice; he swiped the sword up and followed his mentor outside. Time to redeem himself.

The hair at the back of his neck stood on end when Dante triggered, a gust of sparkling red embers blowing the hair out of his eyes. He didn’t have time to ask about the logistics of their flight before he was spun around, Dante gripping him by the waist and launching them both into the air as if by canon fire.

Nero gasped, his stomach left firmly on solid ground as he watched the city shrink away below. “ _Shit!”_

“I got ya,” Dante reassured him in his layered voice, slinging a thick black forearm across his middle. The hybrid clung onto it like a lifeline, having to tear his eyes away from the receding ground before it made him too dizzy. In his peripherals he could see the tips of Dante’s wings glowing orange, the heat radiating from them easing the wind chill whenever he beat them.

“What’s with the big hurry, anyway?”

“This demon is powerful. Its right in the middle of the city, so lot of people are in danger.”

“Oh.”

“I need you to listen to me now, okay?” The red devil took the hand from his waist to pinch his ear between his claws.

“Ow!”

“If I tell you to stay out of this, you have to do it. If I tell you to get back or hide, you have to do it. It’s not because I think you’re a bad fighter, alright, it’s because I’m trying to look out for you.”

“ _Ow_ , okay, I get it! Y’know, I _did_ fight back a demon invasion once!”

 _‘Dante’s right, Nero. You listen, but you have to obey.’_ Nero rubbed his sore ear, keeping his grumblings tactfully to himself. He risked a look down again, his vertigo back under control. _It’s not so bad up here. I could get used to this._

“See that?” Dante pointed toward the tell-tale blue flashing of emergency vehicles up ahead, more streaming in from the surrounding network of roads. “That’s our destination.”

“No kidding.” They started to lose altitude as they neared. The teen scanned inside the lose perimeter that the emergency services created for any sign of the demon, and all of a sudden, he could _feel_ it. It was powerful, alright. His sixth sense guided his eyes, and he spotted the target stood at the end of a wide thoroughfare. It was watching them.

Dante let Nero drop the last few feet himself with a “Bombs away,” landing himself ahead and squarely in front, and dropping his trigger as he did. Nero got a look at their opponent over the hunter’s shoulder.

The thing was tall, at least as tall as the Devil May Cry building, standing on two bird-like legs. Despite that, its deep green skin was smooth, scaleless, between patches of matted brown fur. Great horns of a steer burst forth from both temples.

For an instant, Nero saw the standoff before him like the visual of an old tale - the man, set out to do the seemingly impossible and slay the beast.

 _‘Malacoda,’_ Vergil muttered.

“Dante,” the devil greeted flatly, voice loud and rumbling.

“You’re a little late,” Dante called over. “All your buddies are already dead.”

“It makes no matter. I can defeat you myself.”

“Funny – that’s what they all said, before I killed them.”

“I am not them.” Malacoda held a muscular arm out to the side, demonic energy swirling down the limb to gather in his palm and congeal into an enormous sickle sword. “My Master and my comrades will be avenged tonight. And after I’m done with you, I’ll kill your child.”

“Now, why’d you have to go and make it personal?” Rebellion slid from the holster from her own master’s back, Dante giving her a confident spin in his gloved hand. “Stay there for a sec, kid,” he spoke over his shoulder. Nero stood his ground and drew Red Queen, watching the hunter stride forward to their enemy.

Malacoda moved to meet him. One harsh step closed the distance between them, the sickle sword lifted back, high, and cracked down in a fluid motion. Nero expected Dante to dodge the blade, but he instead met it with his own and threw it back. _Woah_. He knew Dante was strong but seeing him deflect an attack that would have levelled a building with one hand was beyond impressive. Malacoda pressed him, moving fast, and Dante shirked each hit. The size difference made for a weird sword fight to witness – the demon being around twenty foot tall, with a weapon to match, and Dante being just over six foot.

One swing Dante leapt back from, and Malacoda began with another method of attack: projectiles. The hand not occupied by the curved blade swept out in an arch, spreading orbs of demonic energy to fan across the thoroughfare. Easy enough to dodge, Nero thought, until he saw one make contact with the ground and explode into a flurry of sparks that blanketed a wide radius. _Okay. Not so simple_.

While the teen was focussed on the orbs, Dante made a dash toward his opponent, finally landing a strike against him. Rebellion cut deep into the devil’s calf, but Malacoda shook it off with barely a grunt. Dante got out from underneath him in time to avoid the injured foot stomping on him, cracking the tarmac below and sending up a column of emerald flames.

Nero took a step forward and was immediately chastised.

_‘Nero, Dante told you to stay put.’_

“He said for a _sec_. I’m going to help – if I can distract that thing, then he can get in to attack without it throwing all that bullshit at him.” No matter what Vergil said, his mind was made up. Whether Dante was close or far, the demon had something to combat him with. If even a split second of attention could be taken off of Dante, the hunter could use it.

_‘Be careful.’_

Nero broke into a run, skirting the street along the pavement in front of some very expensive looking housing. Everyone in the area had run for their lives behind the services perimeter, or else the people who lived there were hiding inside and praying. Malacoda flicked a beady black eye to the approaching teen, casually flicking some electrified orbs his way. They were no problem to dodge, and Nero could already see his plan working when Dante took the chance to give their enemy’s leg another scoring.

With Malacoda’s focus back on the main threat, the hybrid could close the distance unaccosted. He eyed the clumps of fur spotting the demon’s body and lashed his Devil Bringer forwards, the phantom arm whipping out to grapple onto a patch of fur on Malacoda’s back and pull the teen toward it. First, a glancing blow with Red Queen along the meat of his back to see how Malacoda would react. The demon cursed, reaching backward to swat at the younger hunter. Nothing Nero couldn’t avoid. Dante struck moments later, making the devil curse again.

With that they launched into a rhythm; the demon chasing Dante’s lead and Nero doing the same. Dante blocked, Nero jumped and struck, Dante struck. A few times Malacoda spun around to try and hit the teen, which Nero darted away from (he certainly didn’t try and meet the sickle sword with his own as Dante had).

After another successful cut, Nero heard the squelching, tearing, _cracking_ sound of Malacoda’s leg getting cleaved clean off by Rebellion, just below the knee. The demon roared and went toppling forward - but it wasn’t time for a victory lap just yet. Malacoda, staying mobile on one arm and leg, kept attacking. Even downed the hulking devil was still aggressive and fast, and perhaps even harder to approach now that the huge sword could sweep around horizontally.

Dante kept his strategy, aiming instead for the free arm rather than the leg – which was already healing itself, albeit gradually due to the sheer mass of the limb. Nero stuck to the left side where the sword wasn’t swinging, able to jump onto Malacoda’s back without the threat of being swatted. Not a victory lap yet, but they were getting close. The demon was slick with its own blood, deep gashes slices into the flesh multiple places at once as the hunters worked together to end it. On the floor, Malacoda was more like a scared, lowing animal than an ancient and respected demon warrior. It was almost cruel. _But not really_ , Nero smirked.

Fire licked along Malacoda’s spine, of the creature’s own making this time and not Red Queen’s, and Nero leapt off to avoid getting crisped. At the same moment, the Malebranche elite slapped his blade against Rebellion at just the right angle to send Dante skidding away, prolonging the inevitable. Nero snatched his way back onto the beast with his Bringer-

-only to get snatched out of the air himself. Malacoda whipped around with previously undisplayed speed, grasping Nero by the arm he'd used to grapple onto him. Nero had time to grunt, the hold around his Devil Bringer like a vice, before the demon’s other hand abandoned its sword in favour of Nero’s body. Malacoda tugged him from one hand and threw him with the other, looking Dante in the eye the whole while. Nero went flying; barely aware of the world tumbling around him before he smacked hard into the concrete and rolled, ending up face down. His heart was racing, breath stuttering, but he had a strange clarity about the world around him. So much so, that he was able to see clearly when Malacoda opened his left fist and tossed his Bringer onto the road.

Nero watched it roll, the same way he had when he hit the ground.

He raised himself up and lifted his right arm, severed above the elbow.

“May your young be forever crippled,” Malacoda intoned to Dante solemnly, his last words before Dante parted head from shoulders with the cool precision of an executioner.

“Dante,” Nero breathed, easing himself onto his back. His whole body was shaking violently, making his teeth chatter. He looked back toward his Bringer, several metres away. It had stopped glowing, and already small flakes of it were dissolving away. “Vergil?”

“Nero!” the hunter came skidding up to him, dropping to his knees beside him in the growing puddle of blood.

“M-my arm -” Nero mumbled, pointing toward where it lay as though Dante couldn’t already tell what was wrong.

“Don’t move, Nero.” He yanked his belt out of the loops so hard that the stitching tore on a few and wrapped it around what was left under the hybrid’s shoulder, pulling it tight and tying it. Nero whimpered, but he couldn’t feel any pain. He wasn’t sure what he could feel.

“My arm.”

“It’s alright kid, I’ve got you.” Dante got up to walk around him, and Nero’s eyes were drawn to his limb again. The Yamato was lying there, the last traces of his Devil Bringer floating away to nothing.

“Dante,” he choked when the hunter gathered him up to sit and lifted him off the tarmac. “I-it’s gone.”

“It’s alright.”

“It’s gone!” Nero sobbed. “Vergil?”

“Just stay with me, kid. Keep with me, I got you.” But Nero couldn’t hear what he was saying. He wasn’t even aware that they were moving, Dante rushing with him in his arms.

“He’s gone! Dante -” he grasped the hunter’s coat in his remaining fist, turning his pale and bloodied face toward him and holding on desperately. “He’s gone. Help – help me, Dante, _please!_ Do something!”

“It’s okay Nero,” Dante asserted like a broken record, tightening his grip on him. It didn’t stop him falling apart.

“Please _help me_ Dante, I can’t – I-I can’t hear him! Please, _please_ , no!” Nero struggled uselessly against the firm hold around him, throwing his head back and wailing.

Dante didn’t waver, chasing the blue lights of the emergency vehicles through the abandoned streets while the air was filled with the sounds of anguish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen,


	22. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't mean to spoil anything for anyone, but as Guy Fieri once said, I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning! Hang in there through the Angst!

Nero didn’t come to, so much as he gradually became aware that he was staring at the squares of a polystyrene dropped ceiling. He blinked, eyes stinging. This wasn’t his room at Devil May Cry.

He flicked his eyes to the left, head tilting ever so slightly. There was a window with its vertical slat blinds drawn, daylight glowing around the edges. An inactive machine stood at his bedside, next to an IV stand that trailed a line all the way down into the back of his hand. _A hospital._

Nero shifted his head the other way. The brightest thing in the room, Dante was sat in a plastic leather chair, staring at the ceiling as he had been. Behind the door over the hunter’s shoulder, he could hear the hubbub of the rest of the hospital; talking, walking, carts rolling, an intercom. Some laughter passing by the door shook Dante from his reverie, and he checked the wall clock with a sigh. When his eyes passed back over Nero, he did a double take to see that the teen was looking back. Dante started and got up to stand by the bedside.

“Kid?” he whispered, scanning his face and slowly waving a hand in front of him. “You in there? They gave you something pretty strong…”

“Hnnn…” Nero groaned, finding his throat sore and dry. “…Yeah.”

“How do you feel?”

“Uh…tired.”

“Yeah.” Dante sighed again and rubbed at his face. He looked about as bad as Nero felt. Hair a mess from passing his fingers through it too often, clothes dishevelled, in need of a shave...moreso than usual. “Erm…do you remember why you’re in here?” Nero looked back to the ceiling and closed his eyes. Behind his lids he could still see it, _lying there –_

“Where…is the Yamato?”

“Safe, back at Devil May Cry. Do you want me to let you sleep?”

“No…tell me what happened.”

“You – don’t remember?”

“ _I remember_ ,” Nero murmured shakily. “How did I get here?”

“You passed out before we got to an ambulance. They rushed you into surgery and got you all set up in here.” Dante looked at the equipment around them, equipment that wasn’t actually turned on _or_ attached to him. “You've really been through the wringer.” The hunter gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “You should have been able to heal yourself, but…I think what happened severed something inside you, too. It took so much out of you that you couldn’t heal.”

_Severed something inside you._

“Vergil’s gone,” he breathed. Nero thought he felt numb, thought that whatever meds they’d pumped him full of had sunk so deep that he was deadened inside as well as out, but as soon as he said it aloud, he burst into tears. Whatever dam the emotion was walled up behind had been shattered, and the pain came back in suffocating waves.

“Oh, Nero…” Dante placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder and gave it a squeeze. Nero grasped his wrist in his own remaining hand, the cannula inserted in the back tugging.

“He’s gone,” Nero hiccupped, the ache in his chest overwhelming him. The sobbing raked at his throat; the kind of raw, anguished sound made only by someone bereaved.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent crying, but someone had tried to enter the room twice only for Dante to wordlessly wave them away. The whole while the hunter stood there like a sentry, holding his shoulder. Eventually the tears petered out, and Dante plied him with a box of tissues swiped from somewhere in the room. Nero took the offering and half-heartedly wiped the snot and tears away, sniffing. He was so wrung out that he barely had the energy to clean his face. “Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“It’s no problem.” Dante left the tissues by his pillow and leant on the bed railing, crossing his arms. “You should get some sleep.”

“I just woke up.”

“Alright, suit yourself. Y’know, I should warn you that you’ve got some visitors.”

“I do?” Who, other than Dante, would be waiting to see him?

“Yeah, Lady’s here. Your sister, too.”

“Kyrie is here?” _She came all the way from Fortuna? She_ left _Fortuna?_

“I thought I should let her know what happened. She wanted to get here right away.” Nero just nodded, barely believing that she’d made the great leap across the water from their isolated island town, _on her own_ , just to come see him in hospital; no doubt against the wishes of the other Fortunians. Not that he doubted that she cared, it was just…leaving Fortuna was a big deal, especially to a devout like Kyrie. “They’re downstairs in the café, I think. I should also warn you that there’s a gift shop here, so Lady’s probably gonna have something for you.”

“How long was I out?” It couldn’t have been the same day if Kyrie was already there, it was in the afternoon when…it happened.

“Nearly twenty-four hours, kid.” Dante nodded toward the wall clock. “You just missed lunch. You hungry?”

“Not really.” Nero rested his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them Dante had moved away from the bed. “Where you going?”

“Going? I’ve been sat here for the past few minutes. You’ve been out cold,” the hunter piped up from the chair.

“I was?” He could’ve sworn it was just a few seconds… Dante snickered and got up from the seat again, heading to the door.

“I'm gonna get a snack. There’s a vending machine down the hall, you sure you don't want anything?”

“No thanks.”

“Won’t be a minute.” The noise from outside swelled when the door opened, and then, in the absence of the red hunter, the room became deadly silent. Nero concentrated on the sound of his receding footsteps until he was alone in an unfamiliar place. Truly alone.

Carefully he guided his fingers along his collarbone, feeling his right shoulder over the hospital gown. He needed to see it. Not because he felt brave enough, but because he would think the better of it if he stopped to think at all. Nero craned his neck to look down at himself. Poking out from the end of the gown sleeve was a rounded mass of bandages, and under that was nothing. The teen rested his head back with a shaky breath. Gently, he lifted the sleeve high enough to expose skin. Whereas before the scales of his Devil Bringer climbed all the way to where his shoulder met the rest of his body, now there was only smooth, human skin.

As though his Bringer had never been there at all.

///

Nero drifted in and out of consciousness for hours. Sirens from outside the window and the intermittent _bing-bong_ ing of the intercom roused him for a few seconds at a time before he was pulled back under again. He heard flashes of Dante’s voice, caught a glimpse of a nurse changing his IV bag. Someone had opened his window, and the blinds fluttered and tapped together in a breeze. Now the window was closed, and the sun had set. A nurse checked his pulse and brushed his hair out of his face. In the dark he chased after a part of him forever lost.

“Nero?” a sweet voice called to him. “Nero?” He surfaced, squinting at the blurry room. Her outline was a little hazy, but he still recognised his sister at his side.

“Kyrie?”

“You were talking in your sleep,” she told him. Her cowl was pulled down to her shoulders, letting her straight, auburn hair free.

“Oh…” Kyrie gave his fingers a little squeeze, careful not to disturb the cannula. “You’re here.”

“I am.” She held up a finger, keeping any incoming protests quiet. “I already know what you’re going to say – I came because I wanted to. Just because you were in an accident does not mean you forced me here at swordpoint,” his sister pressed. “Stop worrying about me; _you’re_ the one who needs worrying about.”

Nero tried to smile for her, and she smiled back brightly. But he could see that her eyes were red; she’d been crying.

“You shouldn’t worry about me either.”

“You’re impossible,” Kyrie grumbled. “You’re in a _hospital_ , Nero, and you’ve never even been sick before. Let me fuss.” She needlessly started to tuck the blanket in around him, faltering when she reached over to his right side, smile wavering and falling.

“It looks weird, doesn’t it?” he mumbled quickly, placing a hand on his opposite shoulder. “Its gonna take a lot of getting used to…good thing I’m left-handed, huh?” Kyrie shook her head, not humouring him at all.

“You don’t have to try and joke for me, Nero. I know you’re upset.” Nero sighed, dropping his arm back to his side. He wasn’t sure he had any energy left to cry after earlier. “You’re allowed to be upset. You always try to be brave, but…what I mean to say… Dante - Dante told me that you lost a friend in the accident, too.”

Whelp, looks like he had the energy after all. The teen crumpled at the mention of Vergil, and his sister was there to wrap him up in the most awkwardly positioned hug. “Please don’t keep it all inside, Nero. You remember what Credo was like after our parents.”

Nero’s bout of tears wasn’t as agonised as the ugly sobbing he’d subjected Dante to before, and he was glad of it because he knew how much it would distress Kyrie. She had enough on her plate without knowing the extent to which Nero’s heart had been completely and utterly crushed into dust.

Kyrie peeled herself away just enough to dab at his face with her handkerchief, while Nero tried to get a handle on himself. The warm familiarity of her love was like a balm on his soul, and he realised just how much he’d missed her.

“What would I do without you?” he whispered once he had control of his voice back.

“I suppose you’d have to dry your own tears.” Kyrie gave his cheek one last pat and drew away to round the bed, helping herself to the visitor’s chair. Nero sniffled, trying to force his eyes to stay open to keep his sister company. “Well, the hospital is not like this on Fortuna,” Kyrie stated, leaning toward a blood pressure monitor to inspect it. The hospital on Fortuna was a little outdated by mainland standards. The hybrid had never been a patient there – the most time he’d spent in there was to visit Kyrie after the time they’d been attacked by a demon in the forest, and to snoop around for a sling to hide his newly formed Bringer…

“What do you think of the mainland?” Nero asked to quickly distract himself from that line of thinking.

“It’s…” Kyrie tapped a finger on her lip, mulling over her answer. “…Different. I’ve never felt like I stood out from the crowd before. I don’t really like _that_ part of it, but the people here are nice.” She caught herself again when she heard how incredulous she sounded. “I mean, not that I – I just expected them to be-”

“Like me?” Kyrie tutted and shooed his amused words away with a hand.

“No! I…I suppose I don’t really know what I mean. Some horrible part of me must have expected the people here to be…oh, I don’t know. Uncouth?”

“You mean like Dante?”

“Nero!” The teen laughed softly but his ribs felt tight, as though they weren’t expecting him to be making any happy sounds anytime soon.

“I’m just teasing. I guess I sort of get what you mean, though.” It was hard to get a grasp on what mainland people were genuinely like from the limited and vetted media that made it to Fortuna.

“Dante and Lady must be special cases,” Kyrie decided. “They’re so kind…I don’t know if I can ever repay them for all they’ve done for us.”

“What have they done for you?” This was the first time she’d met them, wasn’t it?

“They’ve loved you,” she said simply, “I can’t tell you how much peace that’s brought me. At last, you’ve found a place that you can be _you_.” The thought made Nero strangely sad. _They don’t love me_ , he wanted to contest, _you’re the only one left now_ , but his sister seemed to have read his mind. “Dante has taken you in from a place that forsook you all your life, Lady has driven all the way to another city just to pick me up for you, and they have both been waiting here all day and night, worried out of their minds about how you are. If that isn’t love, Nero, then love doesn’t exist.”

“They would do that for anyone,” he argued, and he was sure of it. _Of all people, why would they love_ me? _What did I do?_ Kyrie was silent for a moment, and he could hear the chair creaking as she shifted.

“Dante looks a lot like you, doesn’t he.” Even without seeing her, Nero could tell she was watching his face closely.

“I’m tired,” Nero sighed, the weight on his chest pressing harder.

“You want some time alone?”

“N-no…I wasn’t asking you to leave.”

“It’s okay, Nero," she assured him. “Lady gave me some coins for the food machine outside, do you want some chocolate?” Now that she mentioned it, he was absolutely starving. Something sweet would be much appreciated. 

“Please.” Kyrie would take her time, he knew, to give him the moment to himself that he didn’t want.

And so he was alone, again. Alone with his thoughts, his senses, his soul, all of which turned to Vergil in the silence. Somewhere out there, Vergil was alone too. As the end of his life drew closer, he had no one to spend his last days with, would find no comfort as he deteriorated. He would be alone when he died. Maybe the separation had killed him already.

Nero was asleep when Kyrie returned, but his face was streaked with fresh tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme know what ya'll thought! :)


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